Brothers in Blood
by Kalfu
Summary: For the last fifteen years, Logan has been wandering with no idea who he is-who he was. It was his minds way of protecting him, thats what Charles Xavier said. But what happens when his mind no longer sees any need? The year was 1944 and Logan remembers.
1. Chapter 1

**So, I've just seen X-men Origins and I have to say I'm pretty impressed. There doesn't seem to be a lot on it though so I thought I'd add this story. It's supposed to be a one-shot but it's possible I might add more to it some other time. I don't know. Anyway, hope you enjoy it. It's a bit angsty but all in all, I'm fairly happy with it.**

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Have you ever seen blood in the moonlight?

It's black, as dark as a vortex in space, or the nothingness behind your eyelids after a bullet tears through your skull. James Howlett knew of the dangerous relationship between blood and moon. But Logan was intimately acquainted with it. Even at the height of summer, along the lines of the equator when the midday sun rose high and beat down on humans and mutants alike. Logan would just have to look down at the bone protruding from between his knuckles, and see the blackness splattered on his claws and skin, itching like a virus and spreading to his heart and lungs like an allergic reaction.

And it never went away.

He could wipe his hands in that torn white vest of his as many times as he liked, but the blood was in his brain, at the back of his eyes, just waiting to hop into existence once more. The only thing for it, the only thing that had ever worked—that _would_ ever work—was to lose himself. To hide in plain sight beside Victor Creed, the only man who understood, if disagreed with, his feelings. Yes, the only way to forget what he did was to commit more of those haunting atrocities. To remove the old blood from his claws, he had to smear the life essence of a younger generation onto them. Looking to his left, Login studied the man who was more than just his brother in arms; he was his brother in blood—in every sense of the word. The only difference was that while Logan feared the dark bestial being that brewed on the edge of his consciousness, Victor revelled in it. Still, they were brothers, and the only way for them to survive was to fight together. So they signed up for every war, every battle. They fought for their country without caring about the politics behind it. Allies or enemies, it didn't matter. In the end, they would all be bodies on a blood soaked battlefield, rotting as maggots and scavengers ravaged the families' keepsake. The were only human for as long as their chest cavity moved with the rhythm of breathing, when that stopped they were nothing more than nightmares. They were only dreams for Logan to wake up sweating from in the middle of the night. And even though the empathy wasn't there, Victor would lie awake in sympathy and listen to his little brother's screams, silently wishing he could soothe them, but not knowing how.

But it wasn't nighttime now and Logan wasn't haunted. If there were screams in the air, it was only because the war song was being played and the trenches were full of sopranos and baritones, playing their role as the chorus in the choir of this warrior's symphony.

"You okay, little brother?" Creed asked with a smirk, "Nervous? You stink of nerves."

Logan blinked. He hadn't realised that he was still staring at his brother. "Yeah." Logan grunted, pulling the cigar from his mouth and repositioning the gun that was resting against his shoulder. He turned his gaze from Victor and instead studied his cigar. He twirled it around his fingers absent-mindedly before putting it back in his mouth.

"Think this one will be any different?" Victor asked his brother.

Logan knew he was talking about the war. They always went through a sort of pattern of conversation when they went to battle. Logan shrugged, "Doubt it. Just the usual; a lot a killing, a lot of death."

Victor grinned. "A lot a blood." He agreed with a sage nod that didn't quite fit on the eager features of the mutant.

Logan nodded and grunted in affirmative. Yes, there _would_ be a lot of blood. There always was when Victor was involved.

The year was 1944, two weeks after they had landed on French soil to liberate the people from the oppression of Hitler and his tyrannous regime. Though the brothers usually didn't care for the reasons behind a battle, Victor had followed this war's history with great interest. Logan couldn't be sure why; they had both been around long enough to appreciate that no matter what the outcome of a battle was, the world would continue on and a new age would bring a new opportunity for them to fight. But Victor Creed had stopped sharing Logan's view on this occasion as he listened to the gossip in the trenches and pieced together the little bits of information he could. Eventually, Logan knew he would have gone out of his mind if he hadn't asked about the sudden interest in the modern world. Victor, as usual, had smirked and patted Logan on the shoulder in a way that always seemed to get his hackles up.

"Because it's different," He had said, "Because it's chaotic and no one knows how to deal with it." He had walked off then, leaving Logan to wonder if that was truly it. It probably was, knowing his brother.

"Why don't you leave that pea-shooter down and fight like a man." The Victor of the present suggested, indicating with his hands that he was not going to be taking a weapon either. Of course he wasn't. Logan shrugged and put his gun to the side, but kept it close anyway, it wasn't that he needed it; the gun just helped him look less like a mutant and more like a normal soldier. It wouldn't matter what they were as soon as the fighting started, no one seemed to care once it guaranteed their survival, but until then, Logan liked to keep it quiet. As usual, Victor didn't give a damn as he engraved his initials in a cigarette case with his nails. One or two of the other soldiers looked at him and shuffled uncomfortably to a safer distance.

"Yer scarin' all the kids." Logan grunted to Victor, motioning with his head to the young soldiers whose gazes were now intently on their boots or on the muddy wall of the trenches straight in front of them.

Victor smirked and threw the soldiers a toothy grin that put his sharp canines on display. He sniggered as one of them gulped and quickly averted his gaze. "They just keep makin 'em younger and younger, don't they? I doubt half of these kids even shave."

Logan nodded slowly, "Next time they'll be in diapers." He agreed.

The two brothers looked at each other and shared a gruff chuckle. They, in an interesting juxtaposition to the ever-younger soldiers would live through this battle and keep aging. The only thing for a normal human soldier these days seemed to be to die young and be recruited younger. Sometimes Logan was glad that he was a mutant who was granted the abilities to heal from almost anything. It certainly came in handy during such turbulent times.

An officer walked past the two mutant siblings and then back again, fingering a silver whistle mindlessly in his hands. He looked apprehensive and more than a little scared. He was young for an officer and it looked like this would be his first, and possibly last, big assignment in his position.

"To your feet, men." The officer ordered after pacing in front of his waiting soldiers for a minute or two. Logan rose to his feet stiffly, as if the cold and dampness had bothered his bones and muscle. It was only a small action, but it made him more human, more normal, and though he couldn't figure out for the life of him why that was important, it was. Victor of course, didn't bother hiding his complete readiness for battle as he tucked his cigarette case in his trouser pocket and cracked his neck twice, once on either side. He looked as excited as a kid at Christmas—one that suffered from homicidal tendencies. Victor took a step nearer to the ladder that would lead him up out of the trenches while Logan was still mirroring the minor but somehow substantial movements of discomfort that he witnessed the others perform. To him, such concentration on the stiffness or a knee or the slight twinge in a back seemed utterly pointless, considering the majority of these boys would die in a few days if not hours. Still, by the time that the officer ordered them to take their positions by the ladder, Logan was already standing close to Victor Creed, with a hand and a foot on a rung. Victor turned to Logan.

"Race ya to the finish, Jimmy." He said.

Logan raised an eyebrow, "You don't have a hope in hell of winnin', Victor." He told the other mutant with a grin, "What's the prize?"

Victor seemed thrilled by Logan's challenge and glanced to the officer in order to check his progress. As the officer checked his watch and began to bring the whistle to his lips, Victor turned to Logan and smirked, "Loser buys the drinks for a whole night, once this is over."

"You're on." Logan nodded.

"Good luck men, god be with you…" The officer said quietly, more to himself than his soldiers just before he took one deep breath and exhaled.

The whistle blew.

The troops went over the top.

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Blood splattered the ground—everywhere—all around him. Logan twitched before groggily sitting up. Woozily, he watched as muscle and tissue around the organs in his trunk began to mat and stretch out in search for its own counterpart at the other side of the gaping wound in his body. The skin was the last to heal, looking as if someone had poured flesh coloured paint on the crimson tissue and was slowly seeping down due to gravities sway. Logan tried to shake the fog from his head by violent side-to-side movements of his neck, but it neither helped rid himself of the concussion nor the ringing in his ears. He got to his feet a little unsteadily, keeping the remaining contents of his now-healed stomach down—but just barely. He gazed at the battlefield around him, noting the abundance of bodies in his general vicinity and realising that they were both his allies and his enemies. It also came to his attention, in that moment, that he was currently standing in a shallow crater in the ground and that most of his clothing was either singed or practically non-existent due to what could only be assumed was a nasty burn. With the memory of burning, came the awareness of the smell of burning flesh. No wonder he had been out cold. Logan looked down at his body; now it was completely healed. He looked further down at the remains of an exploded bombshell that had hit him dead centre. It must have been a complete hit; he was obviously out for a few minutes and now Victor was nowhere in sight. In those few moments, since he had stood, the ringing in his ears had stopped and the fogginess had lifted in his head. Logan saw a soldier out of the corner of his eye raise his gun toward him, and with a quick flick of his wrist, his bone claws were out and he lunged onto the soldier. His sharp appendages ripped the flesh and bone of his sternum and the poor trooper died screaming as Logan tore downwards, removing the man's arms with one quick jerk. He let out a barely contained snarl, as his inner beast demanded more, while his very human side shuddered at the gore. The beast in cases such as these always won the silent struggle for power over his mind, body and soul. The thrill of the battlefield was just too much to refuse. Logan glanced down at his claws; red, they were red. Not black just yet, but give it time.

Over the smell of burnt flesh, Login sensed the familiar scent of Victor, his sweat, the adrenalin in his body, the blood crusting under his nails. With a growl, Logan realised that his big brother was winning and that was inexcusable. There was no way he'd spend another night buying all the drinks; it was Victor's turn. Logan broke into a run, slashing and impaling any living creature that was unfortunate to cross his path. He kept going until he lost the scent of Victor and had made it to the other side of the battlefield, undefeated and unharmed. He stood at the cliffs, catching his breath as he watched the final moments of the battle wind to a finish. In this particular skirmish, they were victorious. Logan looked below him to see Victor slow down from his sprint to a jog and then a stop. He stared up at his brother, looking both annoyed that he had lost, and impressed that Logan had managed to beat him with such skill. In this particular skirmish, Logan was victorious. Later, Victor would scale up the cliff and call his brother's win a fluke, a miracle, a one-time thing. Or whatever form of the word he decided to employ. He would pat his brother on the shoulder and demand a rematch next time; he might even make the stakes higher. But the fact remained that it would be Victor buying the drinks whenever the night came and Logan was not going to stop drinking until he was well and truly drunk. Unfortunately for Victor, due to Logan's healing abilities, he didn't become inebriated all that easily. Victor would be most likely broke before the night was out. Still, for now, the pride in Victor's eyes could just about be seen by Logan, if not fully deciphered.

Yes, they were blood brothers; brothers in blood, a bond that could surely never blacken and wither like so many things in this world. Truly, in that moment, Logan could not see his life, wandering the lonely centuries without Victor Creed. Even now, with his clothes covered in blood and bits of flesh and whose canines reminded him that they were both bloodthirsty beasts, fighting to survive. To survive in a world where their abnormalities were not understood, and would never be. Logan knew when to place his bets on something. Looking out across an expanse of dead flesh and rotting meat, he knew his bet would never go to them. He and Victor may have taken part in it, but _they_ had created this slaughter.

Victor Creed's clawed hand appeared on the edge of the cliffs and Logan's ears picked up his little grunts and puffs.

"Need a hand, old man?" Logan asked as he grabbed Victor's wrist and yanked him up to solid ground.

"Old man?" Victor asked in amusement, "Whatever, Jimmy, you know that little victory of yours was just a stroke of luck, right? A fluke. It won't happen again, little brother."

"Yeah, yeah." Logan replied without too much thought. "Face it Victor; I'm good at what I do." He turned from the scene on the cliffs and walked off onto the unknown land with his brother. Would it be considered defection? Probably. It didn't matter though, the job was done and they would be around for the next war. They both already knew that this one would end soon. Like all things, it would age and die and Logan and Victor would live to fight another day.

In Xavier's manor, Login woke up gasping for air. What the hell was that? It was definitely too clear and detailed to be a dream. But then, it was too impossible to be a memory. Victor Creed—Sabertooth—and him, all pally? Brothers? No way. But then, what was it? It could have been a trick, some mind game from a psychic who wanted him to suffer… But if felt so right, it felt as if he had seen those images. Almost like his mind had wanted him to remember those conversations, those thoughts. And he could remember; the smell of fear in the trenches that mixed in with the smell of soggy mud, the oppressive feel of the cloudy days and the starless nights. He even remembered things that had not been in that 'dream' or 'vision' or whatever it had been. He remembered the way the young officer had always kept his boots clean and had carried a picture of his girlfriend in his chest pocket. He remembered vaguely going to an establishment in the Lyon and asking for the amount of alcohol that would have killed a normal man. With a grin he hadn't even realised was there, Logan remembered the intense look of displeasure on Sabertooth's face as he realised his brother had left him broke. There had been a fight about that and they had gone their separate ways for about two hours, blowing off steam by realising how miserable a war-stricken France actually was. In the end, they had met up with each other and high-tailed out of the country, going god knows where.

Logan rubbed his face and threw his legs off of the bed. He padded down to the kitchen in his bare feet to grab a beer and to ponder on what he had just learned. He had finally remembered something about his past. He now had a memory that was older than fifteen years ago. This was big, bigger than big. It was gigantic. But he could tell no one. Would they understand that he was a killer, that he had ruined countless lives and had had very little remorse when he was doing it? He wasn't sure. They would look at him funny, they would become more reserved around him. No longer would their trust be absolute. They wouldn't depend on him for more subtle missions. And though they wouldn't say anything, Logan just _knew_ they would talk behind his back, when they thought his sensitive ears would no longer hear. He would have to leave, find a new place, a new life, he would have to—No…No, that wouldn't happen, and he was just over-reacting. They _would_ understand. They would realise that he was no longer that person. It would be fine. But still, Logan was keeping this to himself. This was _his_ memory and he felt strangely possessive of it. Even though it showed him killing, it showed him very unsure about the whole thing. He couldn't have been that bad, right? Maybe…

With an almost giddy feeling of hope, Logan wondered if he would regain more of his memories. Maybe his mind was finally ready to let him remember everything it felt he needed to forget. Suddenly, a powerful urge to uncover the truth behind his mysterious past flowed through him with the power of an electric current.

He could do this.

Logan unsheathed his adamantium claws and studied them intently. His hands were clean and his claws were glistening. Blood obviously didn't stick the adamantium. The thought made him wonder about regaining his memories. Was it really worth it? Maybe he had truly forgotten for a reason? No, he had been searching for so long. He couldn't last another fifteen years wondering what he was. The only way he would ever find any peace was to find himself. He could deal with whatever his memory brought. He just had to know.

He could do this...

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**A/N: Well, that's that. I hope you liked it. Review if you think its any good or not. **

**By the way, the first line of the story (as some of you might have noticed) is not my own, unfortunately, its from the movie Red Dragon. I just thought it suited this particularly well.**

**Cheers!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Okay so the one-shot became a two-shot and it's very likely to become a more-shot in a little while. Thanks for all the support on the first chapter, I really appreciate it and I hope you enjoy the second part of this story.**

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Logan's body was used to the cold. He had been born in Canada and had spent many winter's nights outside with Victor, looking out at the impossible number of stars in the clear skies. His false father had put that down to the reason he had been sick so much of the time as a child. After his mutation had been expressed and Logan and Victor had run away from their home, they had spent even more time in the snow and ice. Growing up with freezing temperatures meant that Logan considered even the arctic weather to be homely and comforting, a pleasant reminder to days that were more innocent. It was no wonder, therefore, that Logan felt in over his head in the suffocating heat of the Vietnamese summer. The temperature was stifling and Logan wiped his face with his hand in an attempt to get the irritating sweat off of the skin. It didn't do much good since his hand was just as wet as his face. He huffed and wiped his hand in his trousers, looking over to Victor who was crouched on the ground, searching for a cigarette that he had dropped. It was the last in the packet and there was no way that Logan would share his own diminishing supply of cigars. Victor growled in agitation as he picked up the lost cig that had unfortunately fell into a muddy puddle. He shook his head and flicked the rolled tobacco off into a strangely shaped rhododendron. He stood up grumbling unhappily and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. Logan saw the look on his face and broke into a hearty laugh at his brother's cheeks that had reddened in anger and the intense heat. Victor's head snapped towards Logan and snarled, shoving him away by punching him in the arm.

"Shut up." He ordered, moodily striding away from the clearing in the forest that they had been using as a resting place. They weren't alone, of course, there were other soldiers there, but neither of the mutants ever really paid attention to any other people. Logan was still chuckling to himself as Victor disappeared into the thick mop of trees and long grasses. Victor had been in a poor mood for the past year. Logan had initially tried to fix Victor's little problem with the rest of the world, but he had long since given up and had instead attempted to find humour in it. Most of the time he managed it easily. Victor was easier to get a rise out of than when he was a hormonal fourteen-year-old boy. And Logan could easily remember Victor as a hormonal fourteen-year-old boy—so did quite a few men after some of his infamous street fights. Still, Logan knew not too push him too far, unless he wanted to see if his face could recover from getting smashed to pieces by all sorts of different props. He had no doubt that he could, but he still didn't want to have to deal with the bother of it.

Logan sighed and threw the butt of his cigar beside Victor's dud. He stamped it out to make sure he didn't cause a forest fire and turned on his heel, walking the opposite way to Victor. One or two of the other soldiers looked like they wanted to say something to him, but he only had to raise his brow and they closed their mouths. He was well aware that he wasn't supposed to be leaving the camp whenever he pleased but they all knew that he and Victor were mutants and that they both had a certain disposition towards a somewhat feral approach to life. Logan had already stopped his brother from attacking one of the lower ranking soldiers. The soldier was a complete idiot and found himself in Victor's chokehold for mentioning his nails in a less than awe-struck light. Logan knew not to slag Victor's nails, and now, so did the soldier. He had only barely made it in time to stop his brother's hands breaking the youth's neck and he told the young man in no uncertain terms, that he would not help him again. Later they had found out that he had taken leave for 'inexplicable mental trauma' and no one had heard from him since.

Logan walked through the forest easily. He knew where he was going and was in no fear of getting lost or snuck up on. His ears could easily pick up the few sounds in the quiet forest and if anyone did manage to get close enough to jump him, he would smell them before it became a problem. Not that it would; who cared about a few bullet holes? Logan certainly no longer did. He and Victor had been in Berlin when it had fallen to the Allied and USSR troops. Within the time span of a few hours, Logan had received countless bullet wounds, and had been blown up—twice. At about that stage, Logan had begun to look at pain in a different light. Like a switch, he could easily turn the pain button on or off in his head. It was only a matter of telling himself not to bother with it and then he didn't. It seemed so easy now, but it was almost impossible before. Those inter-war years had really changed him. He had grown stronger, even more so than Victor in some regards. He had tried to teach Victor his method of numbing pain but it hadn't worked. It was obviously something that he had to figure out for himself, one day it would just click and he'd get it, like driving or fighting—hard to do at first, and then suddenly it's the most natural thing in the world. And what a skill to have; Logan now barely winced when he was ripped to shreds by the bullets spewed out by rows of machine guns. Even when hit by the giant, nasty bombs that were bigger and more destructive than in previous wars, Logan would be thrown back but only because of the laws of physics. And even then he could sometimes defy that with a well-timed deflection using his claws. Indeed, Logan was turning into a well-oiled killing machine. He was well known for his abilities in his platoon but even though people generally regarded him as the better fighter, Victor was still considered the more dangerous one of them. Logan couldn't blame them for thinking that; Victor was sometimes unstable. Both of the brothers could go into battle, roaring like animals and destroying every enemy out there, if they so wished. Both he and Victor could sweep a whole battlefield in minutes and still barely break out into a sweat, provided it wasn't the height of a Vietnamese summer, of course. But the difference between them was that when the battle was over, Victor still had his teeth bared and his hand contorted as if waiting to deal a finishing blow. Logan could usually turn it off; make the roaring in his head stay trapped in his skull and not unleash it out into the real world. The desire to snarl and rage was just as strong as Victor's sometimes, however, Logan had learned to ignore his inner beast, to switch it off and to cage it away.

But caged beasts got angry and they beat at their bars.

And sometimes, Logan couldn't control it. And when that happened…. When that happened, people died. They died in a very painful and bloody way. Sometimes, Logan went so off the wall that even Victor would have to look away from his handiwork. Logan, of course, would be inwardly devastated after he regained his human side. It had inspired him to work even harder, to build stronger bars and to lock the creature into the darkest recesses of his mind. But even Logan, who was a master at controlling his own body in everything but flying and intense heat, made mistakes. He sometimes got too lax, letting his control slip—just a little—and then suddenly, he'd find himself thrashing the broken face of a bloodied corpse into the ground. He'd usually find Victor standing a little away with his own face bloodied and his hands in front of him, like he was trying to sooth a feral animal. For both of the brothers, the other's behaviour seemed unusual and curious. What always struck Logan as most curious, though, was that it was Victor's blood on his face, not someone else's. Of course, there was never any physical mark on Victor—he healed as well as Logan—but then, if Victor tried to stop _him_ while he was in his feral state, then his big brother probably hadn't done it the smart way. It was more likely that Victor had literally jumped him in an effort to over-power him. It was a technique that was not only useless, but one that would probably have killed any lesser man. Then again, Logan often thanked his stars that neither of them were 'lesser men' otherwise they would have both killed each other thousands of times. The mutant couldn't deny that their relationship sometimes—often—took on a dangerous nature. A simple exchange of words could leave them with a claw lodged in someone's arm and nails firmly stuck into someone else's leg. Not to mention, they went through months worth of growls, snarls, hisses and whatever else you could think of. But they were brothers and in the end, all their competing and head butting was frivolous. They had spent almost a hundred and thirty years in each other's company, so they were bound to get on each other's nerves sometimes, right? And at the end of the day, no matter how infuriating Logan might feel Victor had become, no matter how distressed he was that he had destroyed so many lives, he would stick by his brother. Why? Because there was one thing that Victor could have given Logan that no other person would ever be able to—forgiveness. And his older brother had given it freely. It didn't matter that their father was a sadistic, twisted person who relished scaring both him and Victor. It meant nothing that Logan had probably done them a favour. The simple fact of the matter was that he had left them virtually orphaned, and they had been left to fend for themselves without any security. And Victor had accepted that. He had understood Logan's motives, his little brother's _need_ to kill the man that had fathered them both. It still sometimes bemused him that Victor had so easily let go of any connections to the man and had looked after Logan as easily as if they had always known their linked lineage. Ever since that night, they had been near to each other, and it seemed odd that their father's murder would bring them together. It was a situation that should have torn their family apart, but as Logan had long since learned; blood strengthened their sibling's bonds. Each war left the closer than the one before. It had gotten to the stage that they could fight together, side by side; with such compatibility that it seemed to everyone else that they shared the same mind.

This war had not done that.

It was how wars were supposed to be really. They were never meant to create new friendships and stronger bonds, they were meant to destroy. It was easier to fight if you thought that your actions meant nothing, as if it was nothing more than a scenario in one of those new arcade games that were all the rage with youngsters. But Logan couldn't deny any longer that his very presence in a battle or a campaign made a difference. He usually brought that thought to the back of his mind when he dealt out the finishing blows, but these people had families, hopes, dreams. Logan grimaced. He was getting too sentimental. He blamed old age. Most humans after sixty or seventy years became jaded, he had a hundred and thirty. At this stage, he deserved to be a little weary of the world.

Logan shook his thoughts out of the consuming spiral they had been in. A hint of a smile almost tinged his lips as he realised with a slight flutter of relief that he had arrived at his destination. He crouched down low, covering himself in the dense thicket and the shadows of the exotic trees that canopied above. He leaned his back against the trunk of the tree and moved into a sitting position, still suitably hidden from prying eyes. The bark of the tree was smooth and cold and he almost groaned at the small relief from the heat. He knew it would be short lived as his own stifling body heat would radiate outwards and attack the coolness of the bark like a plague of locusts to a wheat field.

Outside of his supreme hiding place, was a small spring that seemed to have protection of a layer of hard rock around its edges, it looked like a dangerous shield to Logan. But, after stumbling across this a few days previous, he had discovered that the natural oddity was not quite so defensive. He had only a few minutes to wait before his point was proven. He smelled them before he saw or heard them. He was down wind and each of their unique but very similar scents carried themselves on the air like surfers on a rip curl. Next, he heard them. They didn't speak much, each person in their own heads, as people often are when it was early in the morning, but their footsteps spoke the volumes for them. Despite the general feeling sleepiness in the group, they were young and still carried a strong bounce in their steps. Finally, after a slight delay, Logan's eyes picked up the people's images. The group of young women slowly chose their paths through the rocky barricades, carrying their woven baskets on their backs with the clothes hanging out the back. A sleeve bobbed up and down against one girl's basket as she walked happily, as if the piece of clothing knew of his presence and was waving to him in reassurance that it didn't feel threatened. Absurd as that thought was, Logan felt better about the whole thing, thinking that.

The girls and young women got to work. It started off as a quiet affair, the villagers crouched down and wet the clothes in the spring, pouring some sort of liquid over them and rubbing them against the hard stones which caused suds to appear on the materials and fall into the water. When they were finished doing that, they rinsed off the clothes by dipping them into the water once more and then wrung them out before leaving them on a stone to dry. After they repeated the process once or twice, a word here and there was exchanged. Logan could hear them and but couldn't understand their words. He, like the rest of the group had been made attend some Vietnamese classes before being posted here, but small talk had never been a topic he had studied. Sure he had recognised some words, but most of them were only small ones—words that were only things like 'cat' or 'dog' or maybe the occasional 'boy'. They continued working, adding the occasional giggling or slightly higher-pitched voices to the quiet talk that they seemed comfortable with. It didn't take long after that before one girl started humming a tune and the others followed her lead. Soon, they were singing.

Logan knew the song. It was not because he could understand the meaning behind the foreign words but because he had heard it before.

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Two weeks previously, he had been watching a pretty young girl on the streets sing the song as she danced and her brother ran around with a shallow container in his out-stretched arms. He was looking for money from the passers-by. Logan had already given him a wad of cash without caring about the value of it. The kids looked like they needed it more than he did and he really had very little need for money anyway. As he watched the two, an older woman had walked up behind him. She told him in surprisingly good English that they were orphaned by the war and this was the only way for them to make money. Intrigued that a local would even look at him, let alone speak to him, he looked down at her. Her raven black hair was beginning to streak with grey and her slightly hunched posture also hinted at her age. Her face had wrinkles on it, which was turned into her own personal battlefield of laughter lines and worry lines. The strokes of laughter at her eyes were deeper set and looked like they knew their territory thoroughly, while the shallow contours of worry across her forehead were new. Logan couldn't put blame on them being there, though, this war was enough to put wrinkles on even his own brow.

"It is the story of a woman." The aging lady told Logan after a short time, "The song says her beauty was so great that son would fight against father just to look at her and whole cities could be destroyed in a day just from her gaze. The woman was so beautiful that the gods brought her down to earth because she was too dangerous in the heavens. In the end, the woman's beauty drove all the men to kill each other and only two brothers were left alive. They were spirits of great power and they fought for a hundred and sixty years over this woman. They grew old and frail but the woman still retained her beauty and so they fought. In the end, the younger brother won the battle and he claimed his prize of the woman. As soon as he took the woman's hand he realised what he had done by killing his brother and he died of grief. With no one left to fight for her, the woman disappeared and split into every woman that already existed in the world. All the damage her existence caused disappeared and all the men that died were brought back to life. The men all thought that life would be different now that the woman was dead but when they married their own women, they held the same spirit of that woman. From then on, life was different for women because their goddess would look over them from inside. Do you know what that woman was called?"

"No." Logan told her, but he was surprisingly interested in finding out.

The woman gave a broad, toothy smile, which showed her lack of dental hygiene. "Her name was Power."

"Power?"

The woman looked pleased with herself as she let Logan in on a joke that only the women of the village knew, "All men think they are invincible, they are in control. But women are the ones that can make cities crumble or men kill their brothers if they want. Do you know why you find this song so beautiful? Because that girl understands the secret behind the story; the men who hear this think it is about women needing to be kept under control so disaster does not strike, but we all know it is about our power, our place in the heavens. For a long time, women were led to believe they were less than men. But this song is what reminds us that it is not so. You wonder why I do not fear you who are a soldier of our enemy? Because we will survive through this. We do not hate you; you are like every other man in the world."

Whether it was meant as an insult or not, Logan wasn't sure, but it was the first time that anyone had said he was like any other man. Not an animal, not a mutant, but a man. And even though he had been through another war, it was still important to him. Logan had walked back to his platoon with a slight skip in his step.

* * *

Listening to them now, it seemed somehow more powerful and pure than when the little girl on the street nervously sang it. This was a special and rare sight for Logan because these girls and young women were at peace. They were at peace with themselves, with one and other and at peace with the chaotic times of this age. Logan, who had grown up on a battlefield, and who had considered himself to know every nook and cranny of the giant beast known as war, was baffled. He had always believed that war ended civility. When a war began, people became hard and cold and they lost their culture, their identity and their morals. It was Logan's experience that war corrupted people's lives like a tropical disease, leaving them dead or crippled by hidden scars. But here these villagers were, with old, thin, but somehow immaculate clothing, singing a song, which told of their hidden power. Even if Logan had not believed the old woman of two weeks previous it was impossible for him to deny it now. These girls stood as a testament to the countries will to survive, to go on living. And suddenly, Logan knew that despite the outcome of this war, these people would win. What were guns and napalm against a nation who held no fear to go on living? It seemed such a waste; all the people who would die for a change that would never happen. Still, it was the way of the world and if there weren't a war, the human race would find a more ingenious way to kill their kind off. The only difference was that if it wasn't a war, neither he nor Victor would help them. They lived for fighting, not for their ideals or their political loyalties, despite all that patriotic mumbo-jumbo that all their superiors spouted at them as if they were prayers. But, war was the means in which the humans chose to tear their world apart and Logan could not fault them for it. In many ways, as he had discovered today, war was not the menace it claimed to be. He supposed that it, like everything else, held its place in a world controlled by humanity. Logan spent some more time, hiding behind the vegetation and listening to their voices. He had his eyes closed and his breathing was so relaxed that he was on the verge of falling asleep. After two days of staying awake, Logan knew he was well overdue, but he just wasn't willing to face the people who had buried themselves deep into his psyche, not yet. Still, he couldn't leave now even if he wanted to, it wasn't like he could just stand up and walk away—not without alerting the villagers to his presence. That would not be good for him. Luckily, his slightly prolonged resting spot was not bothering him. His nose could pick up his platoon far in the distance. Their scent was getting further away all the time; they had obviously started moving, but that didn't matter, he could easily catch up. Victor could easily catch them also, but Logan was unsure where exactly he was. He scent was very weak; he had travelled a great distance it seemed. Logan, with a slight sense of unease, wondered where Victor had wandered off to. Knowing his brother, it was probably somewhere where he could destroy something and uproot a few trees, he had no doubt wherever it was, there would be a string of curses involved too. Honestly, Logan didn't know why there was such a bad mood emanating around his brother all the time. There was no real reason that he could see. Come to think of it though, Victor hadn't been in a good mood since the women's movement of 'burning the bra' had begun. It wasn't that he didn't like equality for women, Logan was almost sure of that. After all, it was Victor himself who had told him that women generally added another unknown variable to the equation whether it is in war, or normal life. And Logan knew how much his brother appreciated anything that was out of the ordinary. Still, upon asking Victor if the woman rights movement was what was causing him to be all grouchy, he had bristled. He had told Logan, with more than a little passion, that it wasn't the movement that was annoying him, it was the fact that they were now refusing to wear their undergarments. Logan, who had blinked once, and then once again, was faced with one question; how could he not laugh at that? Apparently Victor hadn't thought he was being as funny as Logan deemed him because they ended up in a scuffle that broke quite a lot of the furniture in the bar they had been in at the time. When Victor had cooled down and Logan had promised not to laugh at him again, Victor went on to explain the problem he had with the whole thing.

* * *

"It's like this, Jimmy," He had said as if he was a philosopher, about to explain his break-through theory, "women are challengin', they like to invent things that baffle men and make us think. I've been driven half crazy tryin' to figure them out at times. But now I get it; every time they do somethin', they do it to confuse us. They're constantly thinkin'; 'now what can I do that'll puzzle this guy?'—and then they do it. Even those undergarments carry out the same function. And do you know why?" Victor asked his brother.

Logan shook his head. "No, but enlighten me oh wise one." He told him in a deadpan voice.

Victor clearly chose to ignore his comment and continued to impart his knowledge. "So we think of 'em. So we spend all of our time tryin' to figure them out. So we have to work to get them—that's all women want, you know."

Logan raised a brow, "Is it?" He asked, "You honestly think they have nothin' better to do with their time than to find out ways to torture you? Ok, whatever. So why are you gettin' so worked up about this thing?"

Victor gave him an exasperated look, as if it was nothing short of amazing that Logan _hadn't_ gotten it. "Because it doesn't make sense!" Victor announced, still trying to figure it out as he spoke. "I mean, it doesn't have a purpose—it can't do anythin' that'll make us jump for them. There's no reason for it. It just doesn't make sense."

Logan shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the goofy grin he knew Victor was about to punch him for.

"So lemme get this straight." Logan said, holding up his hands to Victor in a peaceful gesture, to stop him from going to hit him, "You think that the whole 'man and woman' thing is just some kind of…what? A war? And they dedicate their every wakin' moment to challengin' you an' makin' you go crazy thinkin' about 'em. Am I right so far?"

"Yeah." Victor agreed with a serious nod that made Logan want to smirk.

"An' so you think this movement is some sort of…" Logan paused to think of a suitable analogy, "…curve ball?"

Victor blinked in surprise. "That's exactly it." He said excitedly, in awe that his brother had understood him so well.

"So I take it we're losin' this war then?" Logan asked with a chuckle.

Victor studied him for a moment, realising that the younger man was not taking him altogether seriously, "It _is_ a war, Jimmy, despite what you think. This is all a war. That's all existence is; a series of wars, some big, some small. The only difference with women is though, that you can never beat them—you can only come to a truce."

Logan thought about that for a moment. It probably made sense, but to hear it from Victor somehow seemed wrong. "Are you drunk?" Logan asked suddenly, with as much seriousness as Victor had held when talking about the war of the sexes.

Victor grunted. "I wish."

* * *

After that night, things had gone down hill with Victor. He became more moody and aggressive than ever. A simple 'good morning' could lead to lamps being thrown across the room or a hole punched in the wall. Logan hadn't seen this side of his brother in a very long time and though it wasn't new, it had never lasted so long. Victor seemed to have no real reason either; it was strange.

But, like everything else, life went on and Logan knew that his brother's mood would eventually change sooner or later. Preferably sooner considering that he had already put up with it for so long, but the future wolverine was in no hurry. They had all the time in the world, after all.

Looking up, Logan realised that the women had finished washing and were now packing up. He waited another few moments until they left. During that time, he gathered his thoughts and put them into a smaller, darker corner of his mind. They had been keeping him too pre-occupied lately and since Logan sensed there would be fighting soon, he didn't want to be distracted with such frivolous musings.

As soon as the last young woman disappeared into the dense thicket, Logan got to his feet and went back the way he came. He broke into a brisk trot, knowing that walking was too slow and sprinting was entirely unnecessary to catch up with the rest of the platoon. He could just about sense Victor doing the exact same thing and it made him curious to see if his brother had predicted the approach of a battle just as he had. Logan didn't doubt that he did. With what he could only describe as a somewhat guilty enthusiasm for the oncoming fighting, Logan hurried his pace, just a portion.

He arrived back to the platoon and fell into step behind a middle-aged soldier, called Rick Langley, who had shown nothing but apathy towards Logan and Victor. It had been a nice change for Logan frankly, but Victor had bristled at his attitude. Then again, Victor bristled at everything nowadays, so it seemed no surprise that this unassuming soldier would set him off also. Speaking of Victor… Logan looked around, surprised that he wasn't back yet. He shrugged and returned his gaze back to the front. Just as he did that, a dark blur appeared at the corner of his eye and the sudden intense smell of Victor made Logan grimace.

"Where were you?" Logan asked, noticing from Victor's smell that he was in a _very_ good mood. The sheer contrast of his new smell made Logan's brain pulse with discomfort; he was not used to the scent of Victor in a happy mood anymore. He'd forgotten how heavy it was.

Beside him, Victor grinned. That in itself was enough for Logan to hold up his hand and tell the other mutant not to answer. Suddenly, the wolverine smelt blood on his brother, on his breath, on his clothes, even under his nails. No wonder he was in such a good mood.

"Out killin' things again?" Logan asked in a rougher tone than he meant.

"Not just things, little brother, people." Victor told him with a big toothy grin, "Soldiers to be exact. They came at me while I was out walkin' and I tore them to shreds. Makin' them scream was the best thing I've done all day. Truth is though—and this is just between you an' me—I probably would've done even if they hadn't attacked me." Victor, looking pleased with himself, put his hands on his neck and just walked for a moment, reliving the incident. He made a satisfied noise and looked to his brother. "Damn, I needed that." He told him.

Logan gazed at his brother and in a deadpan voice said, "Good for you."

"That's what you need, Jimmy," Victor advised, "somethin' that's an outlet for your stress."

"Well I think I'm about to get it." He replied, indicating with a nod of his head towards a blank space on the dust road in front of them. Victor moved his head to get a better look at that nothingness and then nodded.

"Yeah, I thought that was only me, but I guess not. Good."

Another handy thing about being a somewhat feral mutant was that there was a built-in sensor for murderous intent. It stained the air for about a mile around; it was that potent. Logan had pinpointed that intent coming from the area on the road that he had showed to Victor. In a matter moments they would reach that spot and the men who were hiding in the vicinity would jump them and by the smell of things, they wouldn't be taking prisoners. With that thought shared, the brothers looked at each other and shared an unspoken understanding that Logan would take one side while Victor would take the other. There seemed to be twelve men in total, but their exact location was difficult to say for sure. Usually, the best tactics in cases such as these were to be alert until that time when the enemy showed themselves, then go at them with arms and legs flailing. It might not have worked for normal people, but thanks to their strength and healing factor, there was nothing for them to lose.

In a fraction of a second before their attackers jumped into action, Logan could practically taste the sweat of one of them as he walked inches by him. Both of the mutants could hear the tightening of leather boots as the men readied to pounce and they shared a very quick glance before the world seemed to explode into action. In what appeared to be simultaneous actions, Logan summoned his claws and dove to the right while Victor went to the left. They did this just as their ambushes jumped up with their own native war cries and aimed their guns, getting ready to fire. By the time the rest of the army's platoon realised what was happening and whipped around, the two mutants had already killed their first targets and had just about sealed the deal on the second. When the exchange of bullets started, there was considerably less enemy fire than that of their allies. Logan's arm even got grazed by a bullet from the friendly fire but barely noticed as he reached for his next victim, grabbing his neck from behind and cracking it. The whole affair was over in less than thirty seconds and though the battle was short, most of the men in the platoon were panting heavily. One of the few who did not have his hands on his knees, gasping for breath was the soldier Rick Langley. He gazed at Logan for a moment before taking a cigarette out of a metal case and lighting it.

"I don't know what the hell you are," Langley declared through the cigarette in his mouth, "But I'm sure as hell glad you're on our side and not theirs."

Logan turned and saw some of the bodies that were so full of bullet holes they looked like some sort of sponge. But he thought back to the women at the spring. "You an' me both, bub." He muttered with no real conviction, before the order to move out was called and he fell back into the previous formation with Victor by his side, the way it should be.

* * *

"Logan? Logan. Logan!"

Logan groaned, his own voice sounding too loud at the moment, never mind the screeching of some female. He slowly moved his arms in an uncoordinated movement. He didn't want to go back to consciousness and his body certainly was dragging its proverbial heels as he did. Logan didn't really care what he was doing; however, he just wanted who ever that woman was to stop her high-pitched screeching. And if assuring her that he was awake would do that, then that would be what he had to do.

"Oh thank god; you're okay."

Logan almost growled. There was that voice again. Did the owner not notice he was trying to sleep? A little more than slightly agitated, Logan cracked open a heavy, sleep-crusted eye and saw Storm standing above him. She was looking down with such a sincere worry that it quelled the beast inside of him and he managed to stop himself from executing his now ridiculous plan of growling. Seeing how it was Storm, he probably would have regretted it anyway; the now head professor of the school had a strict no-nonsense policy. And it wasn't just with the students, as Logan had found out one day not long enough ago.

Logan began to sit up but Storm gently guided him back to his lying position. "No, don't get up yet. You need to rest."

Logan would have asked what she was going on about when a sudden ferocious headache hit him. He hissed and brought his hands up to his temples, crushing the sides of his head as his body instinctively curled in its own abject misery. Logan didn't think he had ever been shot in the head by an adamantium bullet, but he was sure this was what it would feel like. He grit his teeth and through slightly watery eyes, he saw Ororo Monroe's worried expression. He tried to pull it together for her sake but he failed miserably as another flash of blinding pain left him gasping for air. The pain encompassed everything; it throbbed deep in his skill and behind his eyes, leaving the rest of the body both hyper-aware and completely numb to any external stimulus. Logan could feel what appeared to be pins and needles prick the bottom of his cerebral cortex and he shuddered as they made their way all the way down his spine to his tailbone. He at last let out a pained snarl that sounded more like a wounded, rabid animal than a man. And not a moment after that, he felt something change—deep inside his head. He actually, physically _felt_ something inside his head move, or switch on, or something. Seconds after that, he felt the warm balmy feel of his rejuvenation begin to take place and with it came the slightly cold feeling in the rest of his body. Almost as quickly as his healing process begun, it ended and Logan blinked in surprise, the agony more like a vivid memory of a forgotten past then something that happened seconds before. He felt Storm's hands on his arm before he realised that he was panting like a thirsty dog on a hot summers day.

"What's happening to you, Logan?" She asked fearfully, hoping that he could tell her.

This time Logan did manage to successfully sit up. He shook his head. "Nothin'," He told her, "Don't worry about it."

Storm shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. "Don't worry about it?" She asked with her voice raising half an octave and her eyebrow going higher than her voice. Logan knew he was in trouble.

"Logan, how am I supposed to 'not worry about it' when you've been practically in a coma for two days? Tell me that."

Logan flinched. "What?" He asked in confusion. For the first time since he woke up, he realised he was in the steel infirmary of the late Charles Xavier's school. What was he doing here? And for two days?

Storm, seeing that Logan was beginning to realise the gravity of the incident, calmed herself down. "You don't remember?" She asked him.

Logan shook his head. "Not a thing, darlin'. What happened?"

Storm frowned, hoping there wasn't something seriously wrong with the Wolverine. "Two days ago, you were talking to Rogue about something to do with music and then you just collapsed. We tried to wake you but we couldn't, so I sent you down here for treatment but there seemed to be nothing wrong with you. Hank says that physically, you were fine, but your mind just wasn't there anymore. I'm so happy you're awake, Logan, you have no idea how scared Rogue was that she'd lose you. We were all terrified, Logan."

"So I was just standing there, talkin' to Rogue an' I dropped?" Logan asked in confusion. He had no memory of that. The last thing he remembered was Marie running up to him with a big smile on her face.

Storm nodded. "Exactly, it was just something silly, like what you favourite song was and then—well, you know."

Logan pondered on that for a moment. Rogue coming up to him and asking about his favourite song must have triggered something off in his head and sent him back all those years to Vietnam. If that was the case, his mind really was healing itself. It was about time too. Logan rubbed his face to hide the grin as he thought of what was happening. All those years of hopelessness, of searching without any clues and after Charles Xavier died, he was sure that he'd never know his past. But it seemed he was wrong and his body was proving that to him now.

Logan realised he wasn't necessarily a bad person before. At least that was what those two memories made him believe. But there was still a lot that he couldn't wrap his head around. For instance, he still was speechless to think that he and Sabertooth had been brothers and he was almost sure that he'd never would've believed it if he hadn't seen it himself. Another thing that surprised him was the fierce loyalty he remembered feeling for Victor Creed in that memory. That was probably the strangest thing, since the only other times he had met his brother after his amnesia was when they were trying to kill each other. Did something happen between them? It must have because why else would a relationship with bonds as strong as theirs just break? Logan could just about gleam the memory of pain and anger from his mind before the link to his and Victor Creed's past was completely severed by the scarred tissue of his brain.

"Logan, maybe I should get Hank to give you a check up now that you're awake." Storm suggested as she saw Logan struggle to his feet.

Logan shook his head. "Nah, I'm okay. I just need a minute." He leaned against the cold examination table, testing the strength of his legs carefully. His legs seemed fine, and he seemed fine. Everything was okay.

"But what about that pain in your head? You could be sick, Logan. People don't just collapse and stay unconscious for two days."

Logan sighed; it was time to come clean. "Listen," He said unhappily, "I'm not sick, in fact, I'm getting better."

Storm tilted her head to the side in confusion. "What do you mean?" She asked uncertainly.

Logan sighed, drooping his shoulders and scratching the back of his neck. "I think my mind is beginning to heal. I'm starting to remember things."

"Really? That's great Logan. Is that what happened to you just now? What do you remember?"

"Yeah that's why I fainted and if it's all the same with you, I'd rather keep my past to myself for the moment, it's still a bit fuzzy and anythin' I have isn't the full picture."

Storm nodded sagely. "Of course. I understand."

Logan grunted his appreciation. He pushed himself off the table and took a few steps forward before stumbling. Storm hurried to his side, giving him the support he needed to stay standing. "You mind helpin' me to my room?" He asked grudgingly. Storm, knowing how hard it was for Logan to ask for help, said nothing and just nodded.

Storm led him to the lift where she pressed the button to go up. In the lift, Logan broke away from Storm and leaned on the railing.

Storm pursed her lips, dying to ask about Logan's past but respecting his wishes. Instead, she compromised. "So, Logan," She said to fill the silence, "What _is_ your favourite song?"

Logan folded his arms. He thought back to his newfound memory, in his head he could still hear the girls by the water singing as they washed their clothes. He almost smiled, thinking back to how much of a refuge that was for him. He met Storm's eyes. "I dunno," He admitted, "I never knew its name."

The rest of the short journey went by in silence.

* * *

**A/N: Next chapter should be up in about a week or two, I've already pretty much got what I'm going to say sorted, now I just need to type it up.**


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter took a bit longer than I thought it was going to, I thought I knew what I was going to write and then I realised that I had no idea and there was a whole big kafuffle. But it's all been fixed and it's all good. Enjoy.**

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There are a few facts that are known universally. Known by everyone from the savvy businesswoman in the city, to the aging hermit in the mountains. One of these facts is where babies come from. Another is when two grown male animals are in a confined space for extended periods of time, things get ugly. Neither Victor Creed nor Logan were animals, but after being called that for so long, they had come to sometimes believe it—and act accordingly.

Now was one of those times.

They were in a stone cell, too small for one man to live in comfortably, never mind two feral mutants. Logan paced the length of the cell, which was only six steps, and back again. He was trying to keep his mind off of gutting Victor and leaving him to die on the floor, since everything his brother did seemed to infuriate him. Victor was sitting in the corner at that moment, scratching shapes into the wall and colouring them in with his nails. The constant screeching from his actions had a direct correlation with the scowl on Logan's face. And after another ten minutes of the two brothers continuing with each of their annoying coping mechanisms, Logan flipped.

"For god's sake, Victor," He growled after spinning to face the other mutant with his claws out and to his side, "If you don't stop doin' that _right now_, I swear I'll tear you in two."

Victor, whose mood was no better, snarled viciously, "Yeah? An' what about you? If you don't stop pacin' I'm going to rip you to shreds." He threatened as he stood up, his nails becoming talon-like as he took a step towards Logan.

Logan wasn't threatened by his brother and held his ground, causing a standoff to be put into action as each of the men were unwilling to back down. They stood stock still in their respective spots for a minute, seizing each other up, wondering how serious the other one was. It was soon apparent to both of them, however, that each was just as intent on this course of action as the other. Victor was the first to make a move by shifting his weight slightly back, getting ready for a good pounce. There was no hint of the usual dark smirk that he reserved for when he was about to hurt something. Instead, all Logan could see was a deeply passionate fury that would make anyone else quiver. Any other time, Logan would take that as a sign to back off and to talk Victor down from his murderous purpose. But then, this wasn't any other time and Logan was fed up. Logan mirrored Victor's action of shifting his weight, but he went onto the balls of his feet rather than his heels. It was no less of a deadly preparation, but just showed how different the styles between siblings could be.

"C'mon Runt, you know you can't beat me. Just back down and I'll leave you in one piece." Victor said with such an evil grin that the young James Howlett would have flinched from, seeing so much of their late father in the man. But Logan was stronger now then when he was a child, and he was furious that Victor could even stand to look like the man. With a roar befitting of a bear, Logan tensed his whole body for a split second before lunging at his brother with the intent to kill. Victor too, choose almost that exact same time to do the same and they ended up meeting each other half way, Logan getting the upper hand—barely—as they fell to the ground with him on top. Logan drove his claws into Victor's shoulders and snapped his teeth as his brother struggled. If Victor hadn't been under the influence of his own inner beast, he would have realised that Logan's animal was controlling his little brother's body. The Wolverine had come out to play and brought along his usual infuriated frenzy of violence. But Victor didn't realise and his Sabertooth certainly didn't care as he used the sheer body bulk to flip the Wolverine off of him. There was a deep rumble in the Sabertooth's chest as he stumbled to his feet quickly and readied his claws again. The Wolverine was already waiting as he got up. The damn animal was always the faster one of the two of them—quicker healer too. Before the Wolverine could use his speed to his advantage, Sabertooth took the first move and ran at him, dropping to the floor in an attempt to knock the legs from under his opponent. But Wolverine had seen it coming and was already carrying out a sideways lunge to dodge it. Sabertooth growled at his failed plan and swiped his hand out, not expecting to catch anything, but pleasantly surprised when Wolverine's perfectly executed evasive technique was ruined. Knocked off balance, Wolverine fell to the ground in an undignified lump. Before he could jump back to his feet, Sabertooth was on him, bringing his arm behind him to get a powerful slash across his brother's back. Wolverine howled in pain as he tore his top and left deep gashes in his flesh, so deep that Sabertooth was sure he felt the other beast's spine give way under his nail. He had probably severed the spinal cord, because the smaller animal collapsed to the ground and stilled, unable to move. Sabertooth took that opportunity to continue with his onslaught, causing blood to splatter on him, the walls and of course, his brother. After merely seconds of frustrated helplessness, the Wolverine had healed and he violently thrust himself off of the ground with his strong arms, knocking Sabertooth off balance and off of him. Wolverine whirled and shoved Sabertooth into the wall, burrowing his claws deep into the other's gut and twisted them. Sabertooth let out a pained yowl and forced his arms to move in an attempt to push the other mutant away. But Wolverine, seeing Sabertooth's intent, quickly pulled his claws out of the flesh and then in a swift succession of jabs, forced his bone back in and out of the damaged body. Sabertooth scrunched up his face in pain, trying to ride it out before seeing how useless it was. Instead, he jerked his leg up and kicked Wolverine off of him. Gasping for air, Sabertooth snarled sadistically at the other predator in the room, warning him without words to stay away unless he wanted to get really hurt. Wolverine knew it was just a ploy to stall until the slower healing process started to take place in his brother's body, but still kept his distance. There was no point in finishing a fight with this much anger behind it so quickly. It had to last if there was going to be any value taken from it. Wolverine made a strange sound that was halfway between a growl and a bark as he became impatient waiting on his sparing partner. Sabertooth gave him a warning look. He was already aggravated at his own slow healing; he didn't need some mutt telling him what he knew himself.

Finally, Sabertooth could feel his body's sluggish rejuvenating process start to kick in and he almost sighed with relief. Once it started, the painful wounds he had received from the Wolverine were fixed within seconds and he grinned at his opponent to show he was patched up and ready for round two.

Wolverine barely waited for the grin on his brother's face before lunging straight for him, his weapons aimed for his intestines. But Sabertooth was ready and he hit the claws out of the way and snatched Wolverine by the throat with one hand. The free hand was making similar patterns on his stomach to the ones that had been on his back. Wolverine struggled but was unable to break Sabertooth's grasp on him this time. He gasped in pain and squirmed fruitlessly.

Some time during the fight, the thick iron door to their cell had opened in an attempt of their captors to figure out what all the commotion was. Sabertooth noticed this and flung Wolverine to the side.

Sabertooth faded away as the primary consciousness of Victor's body and the real him came out as soon as he saw someone enter the room. Victor lunged at the person and snapped his neck. Sometimes it was handy to let his beast have such free reign since it didn't mind going back into its dormant state when he needed it to. Victor looked over at the Wolverine who was looking at him with wild eyes that were wide with confusion.

"Yo, Jimmy," Victor called, "Pull yourself together; I need you here."

Wolverine blinked for a moment, puzzled and trying desperately to decipher Victor's words. It only took a brief struggle before Logan emerged from his state and took his place beside Victor.

"Sorry 'bout that." Logan muttered uncomfortably, rubbing his jaw.

"Yeah, yeah, tell me later when we're out of this mess." Victor replied distractedly, sniffing the air for enemies or a way out. "I think I smell fresh air this way." Victor said, pointing to the left.

As the brothers stepped out of the cell that had been their home for the past ten days, Logan took a moment to study the place. They were on a long corridor of iron doors just like the one that had kept them captive for so long. Other than that, it was dark, dank and smelled slightly of rotting vegetables. One of the few sources of light in the area came from a bare light bulb that was yellowed with age and dust and was flickering on and off in a rhythm that resembled a SOS signal. Logan took a quick sniff of the air also and confirmed that Victor's nose was right; left led to their freedom. But Logan picked up something that his brother hadn't.

"We're about to get company." Logan said, indicating with his head to the right.

Victor grinned, turning to the smell. "Let's not be rude then, Jimmy. Because, I for one want to know why we've been brought here."

Logan nodded. "Way ahead of you, bub."

The two mutants waited with their built-in weapons readied. The sound of footsteps approaching caused both of them to smirk. Logan was glad he was in a mean mood today, because there was no way he was going to regret giving his former captors what they deserved.

* * *

After World War II, Victor and Logan had wandered. The world had seemed bigger, somehow and suddenly there was a lot more to it then just the wars and the violence they had taken part in. But the world was changing back then and Logan knew with more anxiety then was necessary that soon the era they had known so well would die and a new one would be born. Logan didn't know why the changing world had such an effect on him at that time of all the possible times, but it did and the animal in him told him not to ignore it. So he grabbed Victor and they had left the small Polish hovel they had been staying in since the fall of Berlin and travelled further east. Their journey took them to the Northern nations of Norway and Sweden and then to the great USSR state that had encompassed so many countries at the time. Victor never complained about Logan's sudden urge to run away from whatever ghosts his brother was afraid of, he didn't care if it was Canada or Cambodia, he'd still be doing the same thing. He'd be looking for things to exterminate. The only problem was that he had always found it harder to do that when there wasn't a war on. However, the thought of going into essentially uncharted lands had a certain appeal for Victor; it gave him more opportunity to seek out some 'entertainment'. So he followed Logan without complaint—mostly—and indeed on occasion got the bloody diversions that kept him amused. Logan seemed to drift during that time, turning into something that was neither the bloodthirsty animal, nor the almost naïve little brother that Victor knew and understood. Instead, he had settled in an uneasy middle of the two, which only let Victor see his brother for short bursts of personality. But even though he wasn't the most patient of people, he knew that Logan would come back to his old self, once his pansy ass soul-searching trip was finished.

But Victor hadn't understood Logan's absolute _need_ to get rid of the routine of killing and maiming that they had fallen into. Maybe it was cowardly for him to drag them across countries and continents so that he could flee from the all too real thoughts of what he had done. Logan was man enough to admit that it probably _was_ cowardice that drove him to the drastic change in lifestyle—and it was drastic; they had never travelled anywhere they weren't posted to. If they saw a country, it was only through the eyes of soldiers and then the countries only ever showed the worst parts of themselves. It was different to see how different cultures operated when they were at peace. It was…nice. But it wasn't like their new lifestyle was all talking with the natives and finding the best local restaurant. No, Logan didn't exactly want that and Victor sure as hell didn't. Instead, there was a lot of fighting.

They hired themselves out sometimes, like mercenaries. They'd protect some illegal goods here and maybe kill some shady character there. It's what enabled them to keep on living in that way. Not only that, but it kept Victor quiet and made for a comfortable constant in their lives. Unfortunately, it was because of that 'comfortable constant' that they had gotten caught up in all that mess of being imprisoned by some two-bit troupe.

During their travels, the two mutants had stumbled into the height of the troubles of a 1946 India. It wasn't anything to do with them; it was a civil problem between the Hindus and the Muslims that lived in the state. Masses of people had been hurt or killed in the violent, chaotic riots that raged in the city that had been called Bombay back then. Victor had been ecstatic to find the discord that they had practically tripped on and had convinced Logan to stay around and see what the story was. Some time later, they met a British RAF pilot in a British owned drinking establishment. He told the brothers that he was posted in the area to re-establish peace and to stop the riots. After a few hours of drinking their hearts out, the British pilot told them that if they wanted to, they could probably join the fighting. Victor had jumped at it, but Logan was a little more hesitant, and with good reason too. It wouldn't be soldiers they would be fighting against, but people. Normal civilians, some of whom had just gotten caught up in something they didn't want to be. But Victor wouldn't listen and he eventually convinced Logan to go along with it.

"It's just another battle, Jimmy," Victor had told him quietly so their new British soldier friend couldn't hear, "All a soldier _is_, is a normal person who put their signature on a piece of paper and was given a gun for it."

So they became temporary members of the British army.

Riots were messy at the best of times, and these ones had been until Victor and Logan stepped in to make their mark. All in all, there was not as much action as Victor had hoped there would be. Mostly it was just standing around looking threatening, but even the hope of some fighting managed to keep him fairly entertained. However, the riots ended all too soon, in Victor's opinion, and it was only as they prepared to leave the country that the real trouble had started.

It was because of that RAF pilot. It was all because of him and his damn greediness.

"So you two are mutants, eh?" He had asked one day during their midday break in another bar run by another British man.

Victor had grunted and Logan took another drink.

"So, like, what can you do? I've never met a mutant before."

Victor, who had been talkative for weeks, seemed happy enough to answer his questions, while Logan just stayed quiet drinking more and more to stop himself from making snide remarks. He couldn't help it; there was something about that man that just rubbed him the wrong way. And for some reason, the animal inside of him screamed that this man was untrustworthy and should be hunted down and killed. Logan had voiced his suspicions to his brother but Victor had just waved him off, saying that he was just being grumpy. And besides, he had added, it wasn't like they could be hurt or anything even if he was going to try something.

It was because of that attitude that Logan was proven right and Victor was forced to grudgingly accept it.

The RAF pilot, a man named Richard Cromwell, had offered to take them out to 'the darker side of Indian entertainment'. Neither Victor nor Logan knew what this was supposed to be, and Cromwell had refused to tell them, insisting it was a secret. Logan could have killed Victor a hundred times over for his curiosity concerning all things unknown and that was one of those times.

Cromwell took them into the slums of the city, more of a shantytown than a part of the great Bombay. The squalor in that place in comparison to the rest of the city was enough to make anyone's stomach churn. To think that the rich-poor divide could be so great in a space of a few hundred meters was baffling, and even though they were so close to each other, it was a completely different world.

Hungry eyes looked up at the trio as they past through the dirty streets and dilapidated huts. Children and old men watched them intently as they moved, no one else had the time though, they were all to busy in their own world of poverty. During that time, Logan was waiting for some poor kid to make the stupid mistake of trying to pick-pocket either him, Victor or Cromwell, but thankfully, they all seemed to know the risk of being caught wouldn't be worth the measly amount they had on their person. Logan knew neither Victor nor the RAF man would be as kind to the idiot who tried anything on them and so when they made it to their destination with their belongings still with them, Logan sighed in relief. It was a sigh he quickly regretted when he realised where they were.

The house they had entered had a small manhole in the back room. In that manhole was a long passageway that led to another room. When Logan and Victor made it to that room, they stopped and looked around.

"What the hell is this?" Logan ground out, talking to Cromwell despite the code of silence he had previously followed.

Cromwell grinned. "Some places fight dogs, some fight birds. Here, they fight people."

Logan couldn't even try and deny that what the man said was true. It seemed obvious enough really; the huge cage in the middle seemed to just scream 'cage-fight'. Yet the sheer bulk of the cage seemed to suggest it was not just for show and there was something other than a completely willing team of participants. While Logan was studying the place and wondering if here was somewhere they really wanted to be, Cromwell continued talking.

"Of course," He said, "It's not really people they get to fight. It's strangers, wanderers, crazy people…" He paused and looked at the brothers with an intense gaze and a smug smile, "…Mutants."

Recognising the betrayal for what it was, Victor was the first to act, snarling as his claws grew instantly. Logan unsheathed his weapons but kept quiet, the deceit had not been such a surprise for him and had therefore not affected him as much as Victor. Yet there was no way that he was going to stop his brother from the murderous rage that he had no doubt would happen—and soon.

But before Victor _could_ move to kill the treacherous Richard Cromwell, three shots fired, hitting the feral mutant in the head, every time. Logan whirled to see the new threat that came from behind in time to see another gun aimed at him and fired. It hit him in the forehead between the eyes, twice. He fell on the ground beside Victor's unconscious body.

Logan woke up exactly two minutes and forty-seven seconds before Victor. In the grand scheme of things, it probably wasn't a lot—in fact, it was probably completely insignificant in terms of eternity. But it was sufficient time for him to dwell over what had happened and seethe at Victor because of it. It was the cell that he would spend ten days in but he didn't know that yet; at that time he was trying to figure out the best way to get out of there quickly. Victor snorted and twitched as his body finished up healing his wounds. He groaned before turning onto his side from the undignified lump that he had been left in on the ground. Logan watched him regain his sense with a great amount of irritation. He was annoyed that they had been so easily tricked, so easily caught and so easily contained. He had already scanned the area and had found no means of escape so the only thing for him to do was brood.

Victor sat up and rubbed his head where he had been shot. He saw that Logan was sitting near him without a bother and silently cursed his slower healing abilities.

"So what's the deal?" He asked, squinting to rid himself of the headache caused by his incomplete rejuvenation.

Logan glanced sideways at him in a way that was less than inspiring. "No exists, no weak points. No way out."

"Any plan?"

Logan shrugged. "Wait for 'em to screw up, I s'pose."

Victor groaned. "Great, just what we need." He sat back against the wall and let his eyes close. "Hate this damn country." He muttered like a sulky child.

Logan grunted without agreeing or disagreeing with him. He left the unspoken 'I told you so' alone, since he knew that Victor was already painfully aware and he didn't know how long they'd be cooped up together. It wouldn't help them to start fighting now would it?

"I'm gettin' some shut eye, hit me if anythin' happens." Logan said as he huddled himself into a safe corner. Victor grunted and started scratching the cold stone floor with his nails. Logan gave him an agitated look before snuggling into himself and closing his eyes. That was the start of ten days of imprisonment and the hellish job of dealing with his brother.

* * *

Finally out of that damn cage and unleashed back into the real world, all hell broke lose by Victor and Logan's command. If the people who had captured them believed in pagan gods, they would have definitely thought they had been reborn in the bodies of the two raging mutants. The two brothers worked in perfect unison, slashing, ducking and killing in absolute harmony with each other's movements; working as if they were one, befitting any deity of war. Blood splattered the walls of the underground corridors and guts and other bodily matter slid down them by gravity's sway. Random limbs that had been brutally ripped or severed were strewn haphazardly from one end of each room to the next. Being creatures in control of their environment, Victor and Logan gave into the never ending nagging of their inner beasts and let them feast on the gore and destruction they left in their wake. Even though Logan hated using the clichéd phrase that his feral side's strength was intoxicating, he was not a poetic man and therefore could think of no better way to describe it. The whole experience, of fighting, of being one with the inner animal, was like being smacked into awareness or suddenly gaining sight after years of blindness. Everything became magnified and magnificent. Even the air shimmered with a kind of divine intelligence that his all too human mind could never fully comprehend. Yet his animal eyes could see as clear as day. And even _knowing _that there were aspects to this existence they could never understand, they became gods among men—purely from that knowledge. And that was not including their super strength, their indestructibleness and their inhuman speed. But it was obvious from the violence that these demi-gods were not the benevolent creatures one would hope for and instead more resembled the creatures from the depths of people's nightmares. Now though, this nightmare was no longer in their captors' heads. It had become real and as Logan and Victor sauntered down every hall, corridor or room, with their weapons at the ready, it was probably the last thing they saw.

The two mutants finally found what they were looking for as they made it to the last room in the subterranean structure. Again working in the efficient unit as always, Victor moved to kick the door in while Logan situated himself just behind him. The door broke under Victor's foot he moved away in a flash. Logan threw himself into the room, his claws out and ready for impaling. He jumped on someone who looked like a guard and buried his claws into his throat before using his already dying body as a springboard to get to the next victim. By that time Victor was in and was busy burying his fist in the man's gut.

It was over fairly quickly—as all battles always were—and soon the two feral mutants were cornering the cowering and cringing Richard Cromwell. They leered down at the man threateningly; he was going to die, there was no question about it and none of them had any doubt in their minds.

"We could make a deal, you know." He said, holding up his hands to show his sincerity, "We'd all be rich."

Victor smirked in dangerous amusement. "Oh?" He asked with an eyebrow raised, "How'd you figure that?"

"You guys could fight, and I could be your manager. You'd be undefeated."

Victor half turned to Logan. "Ya hear that, Jimmy? He could be our manager." He shrugged, "We'd be rich, too."

Logan tried to hide his grin and failed. "Bet he'd drop you after I started to make the big bucks."

Victor huffed, "No way you'd ever be better than me. What d'you think, Cromwell? Whose better, me or Jimmy?"

Richard Cromwell hesitated, looking between the two unyielding brothers. Neither of them were giving him any leeway and no matter what he chose to say, it would not turn out good for him. "I, uh… you're both as good, I think."

Victor's face split into a deadly smirk as he shook his head and tutted, "Now, now, that's not how you play this game, Cromwell. This is how it goes; I ask you a question, and you answer it the way I want you to answer. If you _do_, then you get to breathe for another few moments, but if you _don't_…" Victor left his sentence unfinished for dramatic effect and instead just chuckled threateningly.

Logan stepped up nearer to Victor and the RAF pilot and sneered. "And the same rules apply to my questions, _Cromwell_." He spit out the name as if it was dirty.

"I…I don't know…" He said, at loss for a way out.

Victor caught Logan's eye and gave him a look. Logan had seen this look before and raised his brow before he gave a very slight inclination of her head. Victor looked as if he had just been given a very valuable present. Once again, there was evidence of the understanding between the brothers. With the simple exchange of movements, translated to a conversation. In that moment, Victor had just asked Logan if he had permission to kill the man who was at their mercy. Logan had said he wouldn't be taking part, but Victor had better not spare the man. Victor's reaction was fairly self-explanatory.

Logan rubbed his face before moving back further into the room and finding a chair to sit down on while Victor got to work playing his 'game'.

The screams should have been haunting, heart-wrenching, but all Logan could think of was what he was going to eat as soon as they finished up there. Did that make him heartless? Probably. Did he care? Not even one bit.

* * *

"So, Sabertooth is your brother?"

Logan and Storm were sitting on the lawn of Xavier's School of Higher Learning. Storm had not pushed the other mutant for answers on the newly remembered parts of his past, but Logan figured it was time to tell—some of it at least. It was a nice day, warm for the time of year and the sun was glimmering in a cloudless sky. Some of the students were outside as well; busy talking or playing Frisbee or football.

Logan watched Rogue and Bobby Drake holding hands and chatting comfortably with each other. He was glad the two were getting on so well; he worried about Marie more than he'd ever admit and he _knew_ if Victor Creed was around, he'd never hear the end of it. But Victor was not around; he was dead. The thought gave him a hollow feeling in his sternum, but he shook it off and ignored the niggled feeling in his chest that told him he was wrong. He had seen Sabertooth die, he'd watched him fall but something inside him had taken on the voice of his late brother and was telling him;

_"It'd take more than that to put me down, Jimmy."_

And Logan almost believed it too.

"Yeah, it seems so." Logan replied after taking a moment to think.

Storm thought about the information she had received from Logan. She wasn't sure why exactly he chose to tell her, knowing he preferred to keep things close to his chest and from listening to his memories, she understood why. But she was grateful all the same that he did.

"So what are you going to do?" Storm asked him carefully, slowly.

Logan shrugged and took out a cigar from his jacket before lighting it and sticking it between his teeth. "There's not much I can do." He said as he puffed a large amount of smoke into the air. Storm never minded the smell of cigars but had forbidden Logan to smoke in the house. Surprisingly enough, Logan hadn't put up a fight and had promised to restrict his smoking time to when he was outside. Storm suspected that he might be sneaking the odd cigar in his room or in the mornings before breakfast time, but she had no physical proof to back it up.

Storm studied the man beside her for a minute. He looked haggard and if she didn't know any better, she'd say he was in pain. Not physical pain, of course, his body wouldn't allow that, but mental anguish was clear from behind his eyes. She knew he was restless too; men like Logan didn't sit around and wait for things to happen. It just wasn't in their nature. He was the type that had to go out and get something if he wanted it. It was the animal in him that called out for him to take and use rather than wait and see, so Storm had a lot of sympathy for him. Usually, Logan could fix his problems; if someone threatened him, he could go out, track them down and make them pay. If he saw something he wanted then he could do the same. Logan was a man of action, but what was he to do when no matter what his actions were, they wouldn't fix his problems?

Storm sighed. "You should go, Logan." She suggested after mulling the thought over in her own head.

Logan raised en eyebrow in surprise. "Really? You serious?" He asked in surprise. He wasn't expecting Storm to figure out his reasons for telling her so easily. Looking back, he felt a little guilty he hadn't just come right out and said it, but Storm didn't look as if she was holding any grudges.

Storm nodded. "Yes. You should go and find the answers you're looking for. We can manage without you for a while, so it'll be fine. I'm sure Hank won't mind taking over your classes for a few weeks. He and I can alternate between picking up the slack."

It sounded like a dream come true but still Logan hesitated. "Are you sure you'll be alright? I mean, things still haven't fully settled with the after effects of Alcatraz."

Storm shook her head. "We'll be fine. The world knows we're no danger to it. We _can_ look after ourselves you know, Logan."

"You're sure?" Logan asked rubbing his jaw.

Storm smiled and nodded. "Of course I am. Find your peace and then come back to us. Just be sure to stay in touch though, right?"

Logan shook his head. Even though Scott was meant to be the one to take over from Professor Xavier, Storm seemed born for the role. After the professor's death, Storm had picked up all the pieces and made the school as good as, if not better than, it was before. It might not have been the same since they lost so many of their numbers, but it was no worse really. They had had their ups and downs—as was the case with most new administrators in a job, but Logan truly believed that Storm handled herself with an amazing amount of grace and professionalism.

"Of course, I'll call check in every now and then to see how things are going. Be sure to contact me if any trouble comes up though, I'll be here as soon as I can."

Storm accepted Logan's promise with a nod. "When are you leaving, then?"

Logan glanced over to Rogue. "As soon as I say my goodbyes." He told her as he got to his feet. "I'll see you around." He said with a quick wave as he made his way over to the southern born mutant.

* * *

**Okay so that's the next chapter, I hoped you liked it. Tell me what you think. **


	4. Chapter 4

**So the next chapter is up (as you can see). Just wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, alerted or added this story as a favourite. I really appreciate it!**

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Logan, although not academically educated to any high standard, had an understanding as to the basics of how the earth worked. It was simple really; birds lived in the sky, fish lived in the sea and all other organisms lived on the land. This was the way it had always been and was meant to have stayed. The reason for this was a simple one; it worked, it was the natural order of things. It was an order that was given to the world by god or evolution or maybe even by chance. It didn't really matter what you believed. After all, the reason itself was completely irrelevant. What _was_ important, however, was that it came about due to something that was beyond man's control and now they were messing with it, trying to bring it down.

And Logan didn't like that one bit.

It was the year 1903 and Logan was still quite a young man; he had yet to realise just how much his body's healing abilities would affect his life in terms of longevity.

Victor had surprised him a few days previously, telling him that he found the best birthday present for all eternity. The quality of the present didn't surprise Logan initially as much as the fact that there _was_ a present. The two of them had never really celebrated birthdays—or any other holidays for that matter. They shared a mutual understanding that following such events would neither guarantee them a safe place to sleep for the night, nor a hot meal in the stomachs. It was a lesson they learned young; getting excited over something so trivial as a span of twenty-four hours that came once a year, was nothing but a call for disappointment. Something that Victor was not willing to see his brother suffer from year after year. So they had done away with the useless tradition and marked it off as one of the silly, pointless things only normal people foolishly preformed. After Victor making such a big fuss over the infamous 'birthday ban', Logan was definitely surprised to find himself faced with this latest trial. It was surprise that rapidly turned to unease when he realised what the 'present' was.

Those few days ago, when Victor had made his newest stupid announcement, he had dragged Logan onto a train and told him they were headed south to the American state of North Carolina. Knowing something was off; Logan asked what was in Carolina, to which Victor's answers were all evasive and entirely unhelpful. Logan probably could have kicked up a fuss, found some way to get off the train and run for his life, but he had no reason to be mistrustful of Victor. Not to mention he found it hard to ruin his brother's plans since he was obviously so excited about the whole thing. Logan could barely sit still himself as he watched Victor practically bounce on his seat, grinning to the point of looking insane the whole time. He could have been a big man-child—Logan would have thought he was, if he didn't know better. Everyone else certainly did and they steered clear of their carriage, afraid to be harassed by some poor half-wit. In the end, that suited the brothers fine but Logan couldn't help but feel slightly nauseous at the thought of what could make Victor so excited. Inwardly, he saw pictures of blood and gore and some poor victim on the floor with Victor standing over him. It made him guilty to even consider it since Victor was not like that at all. He would not become that bloodthirsty menace for quite some time.

After the train had finished its painfully long journey, Victor continued to haul his little brother down the road to a hotel. They booked in for one night, threw their one piece of luggage on one of the two beds in the room and went back out again. Victor hailed a taxi and he ordered the man to take them to some place that Logan wasn't familiar with. The ride was awkward at best. Victor continued with his excited behaviour, which left the cab driver in a state of almost terminal nervousness. Logan saw the sweat roll down the man's neck and into his collar and he noticed the whiteness around his knuckles on the steering wheel. Logan supposed he could understand the man's fear; Victor _was_ huge after all, he looked like he could crush a man's skull in his hands—which was true. So while Logan could only marvel at his brother's embarrassing actions, he imagined other people must find them downright petrifying. But he didn't bother himself too much on that, and instead spent his time pondering on where they were headed to with such enthusiasm on his infantile sibling's behalf. He soon learned that the mysterious place was in fact, a field. They arrived in the area where a sign claimed its name was Kitty Hawk and Logan suddenly saw why Victor had gotten so excited. He blanched as his eyes took in the sight.

"Yer not serious." Logan muttered as he got out of the car and warily walked with Victor nearer to the group of people.

"It's amazin', isn't it?" Victor said with a huge grin beside him. Logan didn't reply, only grunted in a way that did not show whether he was agreeing or not.

"What _exactly_ is it?" Logan asked. He suspected he knew the answer; Victor had been following the work of two brothers, who were inventors, for some time. He was convinced that they were going to achieve the impossible. Logan had been far from sure, but looking at the machine in front of them, he was beginning to find it plausible

"It's a flying machine. It's called the Wright Flyer."

Logan nodded. That was it; Wright was the name of the two inventors. "Does it work?" He asked.

"I'm not sure, but we're goin' to find out." Victor looked like he was about to say something else, but then the crowds of people hushed suddenly and Logan saw why. The two Wright brothers appeared from an expensive and flashy car at the other side of the field and began to walk over to their invention. Victor watched them as they went, while Logan watched his brother. It was so strange to see Victor act like this that he couldn't help but snort.

Victor's head shot to his brother and asked, "What?" with his brow furrowed in annoyance. Logan just shook his head and told him it was nothing. But he kept the smile on his face as he thought about how similar Victor was to those young women who had begun to idolise the men and women who were captured in those new moving pictures that were all the rage. He thought Victor might have told him it was popular to say 'motion picture' but he could have been wrong about that.

The two inventors stood in front of their soon-to-be claim to fame and surveyed the crowd. Their eyes fell on Logan and Victor for a moment—but that was only because Victor was pushing someone out of his way to move from the back of the crowd to a better view at the middle, or preferable the front. Logan was following him, of course, but he looked a whole lot less enthusiastic about the whole affair and only caught the inventors' attention for a split second. With timing that couldn't have been rehearsed, Victor bullied his way to the very front just as Wilbur Wright began to speak.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen…"

He began to say, but Logan's mind was not focused on his words after that. Instead, during the short, and probably memorable speech, Logan looked at his brother out of the corner out of his eye. Victor looked inspired while Logan himself probably just looked relieved. Victor had grown more and more restless for the last few years. Logan could understand why; they had been living civil lives. They had come out of the forests and had begun to live among the normal everyday men and women of the modern world. They left behind their natural habitat among the animals of the Canadian Rockies and instead adapted to find a living among the rich and famous aristocrats of the day. Increasingly, Victor was beginning to rebel from the popular culture of dressing up every night, drinking and going home to sleep for half the day. He neither enjoyed the late night parties, nor the meaningless social games that everyone in their social circle had to play with everyone else. Their lives had become so disgustingly _civil_; they lived in a civil townhouse, they talked to civil people at civil dinner parties in civil places. Hell, Victor even had his fair share of _civil _affairs with some of the civil married women they frequently visited. Logan could empathise with Victor's frustration. It was true he could act like all the gentlemen at the fancy soirees. And if he needed to, Logan could hold himself with just as much stature as any of the young noble men and women who had arrived from England. He could charm women and demand respect from the men, if he desired. But he no longer wanted to. The drive that made him strive for such things had slowed down. Normalcy was becoming less and less appealing. And while there was a part of him that really _wanted_ to stay in that style of living for the rest of his days, the more dominant personality—the animal—wanted him to hunt for his food. He wanted to skin the deer he caught and watch Victor gut them with a better-trained hand. He wanted to lie under the sky in a tree or an abandoned bear cave. He even wanted to shiver in the intensely cold winter and submerge himself in the refreshing waters of the lakes in the impossibly warm summers. He wanted to _live _again as a true creature of the earth. The lives of modern-day wealthy men and women were wasted with all their different forms of entertainment. He doubted they would ever understand the thrill of the adrenalin rush as a well-timed attack brought down an unsuspecting prey. He almost pitied them for their obliviousness to the true joys in life.

He shook his head and forced his mind back into the real world.

Logan turned from his older brother then and looked to Wilbur Wright, who was still speaking. Logan began to listen—purely because Victor was so interested.

"…Of course," He was saying, "My brother and I became seriously interested in the problem of human flight in 1899…We knew that men had by common consent adopted human flight as the standard of impossibility. When a man said, 'It can't be done; a man might as well try to fly,' he was understood as expressing the final limit of impossibility…."

Logan huffed and crossed his arms. _"Yeah,"_ He thought, _"An' it should'a stayed that way"_

"But today, my brother and I stand before you with the machine that will break the walls of what we consider to be an impossibility. Today, we seek to mark history as the day in which man learned to fly!"

Everyone clapped as Wilbur Wright finished his speech. The inventor took in the glory for a short moment; smiling both in triumph and as a necessity for the camera that the newspaper journalist had brought and was flashing with its uncomfortably intense brightness. The inventors turned to the man who they had elected to be their pilot. He too, posed for a picture before putting on his helmet and getting into the Wright Flyer. As the pilot made the final checks and the technicians made the final preparations before the machine made its first flight, Logan's hands clasped the material of his expensive coat in apprehension. The whole field seemed to be tense and not a word was said between anyone as all eyes fixed on the invention that would change the world. The pilot grinned and waved once he was ready to take flight.

"_It can't work, it won't work. It's impossible…"_ Logan thought to himself as they wound the engine. He brought comfort to his mind through the utter denial. _"No. It's not going to work. It's okay…"_

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"That was somthin' else, wasn't it, Jimmy?" Victor said in the local gentlemen's club over a whisky some hours later. He had a crazy, utterly amazed grin on his face and he looked absolutely overjoyed.

Logan took a swig of his own drink and put it down on the table with a dull 'thunk'. He clicked his fingers and motioned to the waiter for another round. The waiter nodded and hurried over to the two mutants with a new glass. He cleared the other four glasses while he was at it, marvelling how those men could drink so much and not even be a little bit tipsy. He hurried away and Logan glared at some young man who had less than them to drink but was in a considerably late stage of drunkenness. He staggered past them, knocking into their table on his way.

"Yeah, it sure was." Logan grunted, sitting back in the comfortable chair.

Victor scowled, "What's with you, Jimmy? You've been grumpy for days."

Logan just shook his head. "Doesn't mater." He grunted, going back on his musings of the horrendous new development that man had just created.

Victor huffed and took a gulp of his drink. "You know, Jimmy, this isn't exactly the kind of gratitude you'd expect from someone who's just received such a unique birthday present." Victor grumbled, looking like a sulky child. Even clasping his dangerously clawed hands in front of him could not hide the childish look upon his face.

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Victor," He said in a very inquisitive tone, "What month is it?"

Victor looked confused. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he look afraid his brother had drunk one too many whiskies. "Ah, Jimmy, I think…"

But Logan interrupted him. "Humour me." He told him with a shrug, when he realised the other mutant would not simply answer him.

"December." Victor told him with a frown. "Why?"

Logan ignored him and instead asked the next question. "And what month is my birthday in?"

Victor, realising that his brother's birthday would not come for another two months, understood what Logan was doing. "It's an early birthday present, runt. Thought I'd surprise ya." He said defensively as he folded his arms and leaned back in his chair with a huff—as if he was offended. Inwardly, he was praising himself for his quick thinking and a miraculous save.

Logan looked at him, unconvinced. Oh yeah?" He asked. He seemed to drop the topic for a moment. When he spoke his voice suggested that he had changed subject.

"Tell me, Victor, how long have you been interested in those two inventors?"

Victor shrugged, faking nonchalance. "Couple o' years. Not like I'm obsessed or nothin'."

Logan's lips twitched upwards in the faintest of smiles. He knew that Victor had a fascination with the prospect of flight long before the Wright brothers were even born. Victor had spent countless nights with Logan, under the stars, musing that if man could fly like the birds they'd be one step closer to the celestial lights that were strewn across the skies. That was Victor's ultimate fantasy; to see man make it to space, to be able to travel to different planets—to the moon. Or to weave between stars and milky ways. Logan would have said that his brother was fantasising on the impossible, he would have laughed and called him naïve, silly—but that was before today. Already, the feral mutant's unintentional prophecy was beginning to express itself, stage one had just been completed. Logan almost shook his head, wondering if perhaps Victor's mutation was more than he let it on to be. With a quick glance of him though, Logan figured his brother probably wasn't some sort of psychic; Victor would never have been able to keep from boasting about it if he was.

"Victor." Logan called the attention of his brother to him again. Victor looked annoyed.

"What?" He growled with a scowl on his features.

"Thanks for the early birthday present." Logan said honestly.

Victor blinked in surprise, but quickly hid his confusion with a huff. "'Bout time I got some gratitude." He muttered, shifting in his chair. But he gave Logan a quick look that was full of sincere appreciation for Logan's willingness to go along with Victor's pretend thoughtfulness. They both knew that Victor had dragged them to North Carolina for his own selfish reasons. Just like they both knew that it was not anyone's birthday present. But Victor swelled with pride as he realised how gracious his little brother was at accepting the truth and he was almost at the point of being embarrassed at how thankful he was for it. He'd never admit it, but Victor had _needed_ to see this. He needed to know that the society his brother placed so much faith in was going places. He needed to know there was a point to the civil lifestyle that he had been forced to live in. He'd probably never tell Logan that his animal still called out for the wilderness and the solitude that he had found most homely. He'd never tell him that he hated the late night parties and the dinners and even, surprisingly enough, how he had come to resent the women who he'd had affairs with. He'd never say any of that because he knew how important this was for his brother. He'd be willing to spend another decade or so away from what _he_ considered to be _his_ home if it meant that he could see the other mutant live carefree.

For a while anyway.

Victor was a charitable kind of person, if he did say so himself, but there had to be a line drawn, he decided. He couldn't go on molly-coddling his baby brother forever. Eventually Logan would have to let Victor have his way. With a satisfied huff, Victor finished that line of thought, pleased with how it went.

Logan cleared his throat. "So, I was thinkin'" He said slowly, almost as if he wasn't expecting Victor to be listening. "Maybe it's about time we, uh, start headin' home. Like really home, I mean."

Victor looked more than a little surprised. "Really?" He asked in amazement and a little bit of suspicion. "You sure?"

If Victor thought he was excited about the Wright brother's and their admittedly amazing invention, it was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. To go back to the wilderness, to leave the damn human race to their own devices, to be free to be the mutants they were. The thought was so fantastic it made him practically delirious.

Logan shrugged. "Why not." He said. He paused for a moment and then grinned slightly. "Consider it an early birthday present."

In that moment, Victor swore he heard his brother's inner animal howl gloriously for its return to nature and his own beast answered its call with equal fervour. They were going home. At last.

* * *

Logan shook his head to rid himself of the last smoky tendrils of the memory that clung to his minds eye. Finally he understood why his blood pressure always shot through the roof when the blackbird took flight. He had always wondered why flying had made him so nervous. After seeing the Wright Flyer in all its glory crash after a few hundred metres, he had begun to realise that if—when—people began to improve them, they would go higher and be faster. And Logan knew well enough back then, that what goes up, must come down. And it didn't necessarily have to come down gracefully. He vaguely remembered witnessing the horrifying failed attempts at better models of the machines that later were called aeroplanes. His subconscious had obviously thought it bad enough to keep the experiences as a reminder to him to stay away from the untrustworthy devices.

When he felt that it was safe once again to move about, Logan pushed himself off of the tree he had been leaning against and began walking again. He was in Canada now. He hadn't been sure where to go when he left Xavier's mansion last week and instead found himself unwittingly gravitating towards his native country. It still seemed odd, after all this time wandering, to realise that he actually _had_ a native homeland. It seemed absurd that he would be so drawn to it, time and time again, despite his complete amnesia those past twenty years. So it made sense that he would travel up to the colder weather to find himself again, when all clues to his past vanished. He wasn't sure if being back would trigger anything but it did and he now had another piece of his broken past to add to the memory banks, to store away, nice and safe. He couldn't believe his luck, but then again, everything seemed to come back to Canada when it concerned him, didn't it? Alkali Lake was there, he was born there, he had lived there and for some reason, he felt as if he had lost something there too. But that was nothing more than a feeling that, while very insistent, had no real basis to be there—none that his half-healed brain could see anyway. Logan had read about the Ouroboros many years ago and had been fascinated. In his head he could clearly see the snake forming a loop by eating its own tail. It was the symbol for infinity and somehow, Logan felt as if he was stuck in his own Ouroboros; no matter how far he travelled, he always found his way back to the starting point.

He trekked through the gigantic forests of the Canadian wilderness, so familiar with them that he no longer felt the need to stop and stare at the sheer size of it all. Indeed, he still felt that it was a most amazing place and the animal within him definitely appreciated it for its bountiful hunting grounds. But rather than look at it with awe, Logan found himself unconsciously seeing it as home.

Again, as he walked he had no idea where he was going. He decided to let the beast within him guide his way forward and so far it was doing a good job. He knew that his inner feral knew where it was going; it wasn't simply taking a steady route to the North East, it moved as if it knew the land, guiding his feet through the maze of trees. It guided him over cliffs and through dense growth. He followed the path of the bears up the stream. His animal growled with frustration as it willed him to sprint past the endless grasses with the sudden excitement of a young animal in spring. But he wouldn't; he was the one in control, not the beast. But half remembered instances of being a young boy came back to him in the form of a foggy photo album; he now recognised some of the places his feral side had led him to. And suddenly, he was led to an amazingly vast valley, whose might challenged the heavens and whose measure was stopped only by the horizon. The point that marked the meeting of earth and sky. It was almost like something from a fairytale, the great trees protected the sides of the valley and were sprawled around it, only stopping in patches, showing small clearings as if it was a haircut gone badly. A great river, whose origins were unknown, ran through the valley in a zigzagged way, as if it was making an offering to the great terrain. He watched down below him as a pack of grey wolves made their move and appeared in one of the clearings, stalking a herd of caribou that were blissfully unaware of their stalkers. The wolves slowed their pace and stealthily shuffled in between the trees, ever shadowing their prey. Logan watched with mild interest as the caribou chomped on the grasses happily then suddenly, something caught their attention and all of their heads shot up. Nothing moved for a moment, even the wolves forgot their hunt as their heads twitched to the side and their ears flattened. The air around the valley quietened to a dangerous low as everything turned their attention to the stillness of the caribou and their hunters. Unexpectedly, a streak of black flashed through the small clearing and one of the bigger members of the herd disappeared along with the unidentified shape. All hell broke loose as the other animals realised one of them was missing and both the caribou and the wolves scampered in different directions. The caribou stuck to the herd mentality and they darted in the direction of the river. With a great leap, each of the animals hopped over the water and sprinted off into the safety of the dense trees. The wolves took their own route to safety but Logan's attention was no longer on the animals. His eyes were now trained on a small wooden structure, near to the river but north of where the caribou made their leap. He narrowed his eyes as he studied it further. It seemed like any normal log cabin, but something about it called out to him, and the animal inside longed for him to listen to it—just this once. And so, just this once, he did.

Logan released the adamantium claws from their fleshy confines. He made his way down the valley, in the direction of the small cabin that made the wolverine inside of him fidget and twitch in anticipation. Logan scowled in agitation, what had his inner beast so eager? He didn't like it. He never liked it when the creature inside of him got what it wanted, but it couldn't be helped at the moment. He shook his head and with a sigh, he made his way down the valley.

Either he had underestimated the sheer size of the valley, or he had been paying more attention to the possible presence of the mysterious predator then he though. He arrived at the cabin after the sun had begun to set. He cautiously approached the building, sniffing the air warily for any signs of life. But like the rest of his journey, Logan found himself to be completely alone. Satisfied that he was the only person here, Logan approached the cabin and readied himself to knock on the door, before realising the stupidity of the action. He stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. He shouldn't really go inside without the owner's permission but…

_Go in!_

The wolverine urged him with agitation. Logan sighed, knowing the creature wanted to be whole, just as much as he did.

"Might as well…" Logan muttered as he reached for the knob and opened the door. He looked inside and found…

Nothing. He found absolutely nothing.

Well, it wasn't exactly true; behind the door was more or less what you would expect to find in a log cabin. It was plainly furnished, with an unlit fire as the main attraction in the room. There were two chairs. They were cushioned and looked like they had once been comfortable but were now old and filthy. Logan couldn't help but notice the pile of books that was wedged between one of the legs of the chair nearest to him. He took a quick glance at the books and saw that titles such as 'The Time Machine' by H.G. Wells and 'Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ' by Lew Wallace. Logan couldn't remember when he had read these books, but he was sure beyond a doubt that he had, at one stage or another.

There was also a small table in the room. It held papers and pens on it, but there was nothing of any real interest and everything was at least forty years old. He left the main room and explored the rest of the house. It was just as basic; two bedrooms with only a bed and an almost empty wardrobe, a bathroom that looked like it had been made only recently and a small kitchen with little to no food in it. Even though it was small, the more Logan saw of this little building, the more he truly believed he had been there before. He growled in frustration at not being able to remember. He was standing the second bedroom of the small cabin at that time. He was so _sure_ that he had been there before—so sure. All of a sudden he let out a furious snarl and lashed out by striking the first thing that got in his way. The small wardrobe gave a weary creak before compressing in on itself and collapsing in a way that made it resemble the leaning tower of Pisa.

"Aw hell..." He muttered as he ran a hand through his hair, wondering what he was going to do now. When the owner came home, he or she was going to be pissed. With that in mind, Logan figured it was probably time he left. He'd stake the place out, watch it for a few days and see if anyone went in or out. There was only one vague scent in the house as it was and yet again, while it was familiar, he couldn't quite get enough of it to make a connection. Obviously whoever lived here had not been back for some weeks. Which meant they were probably due back soon, right? Logan turned to leave, but took a sniff of the air and stopped, stock-still. His whole body was tense; his whole being—human, animal—was standing rigid, waiting. He took another, longer inhale through his nose and ached to ready his claws. He knew that smell. God, he was a damn idiot to not have noticed it earlier. Yeah, he knew that smell all right. Carefully, Logan left the bedroom and went back into the main room. The person who owned that scent was just at the other side of the door. He could hear the footsteps in the grass and the very slightly laboured breathing of the man. With nervousness, Logan walked to the door, surprised to see that the other had not already tried to jump him. With a quick, steadying breath, Logan put his hand on the knob of the door and threw it open.

Victor Creed was on the other side, walking toward the building oblivious to his little brother's presence. He had lived on his own for so long, without anyone trying to find him or kill him that he had grown lax and often lost himself in his own thoughts. Carrying a male caribou on his back, Victor looked up in absolute astonishment at the opening door. He blanched and stared wide-eyed. Initially, it was because he realised that his house had been intruded upon and he hadn't noticed. Then, it was because he saw who was standing in the doorway.

After shaking himself out of his embarrassingly debilitating surprise, Victor dropped his meal and growled warningly while adopting an aggressive attack position. Logan copied his movement, but not because he had any desire to fight, rather because it was a second nature for him to do it. Still, he realised things could go very wrong if he didn't do something soon. So he did the only thing he could think of doing. He waited for Victor to make the first move.

"What the hell is an X-man doin' here?" He growled, glancing around for more of them.

Logan seemed to back down a little. He didn't quite get rid of his weapons, but he no longer pointed them at Victor. He straightened up and gave up the tactical advantage of a battle stance in order to show his good intentions.

"Consider it an early birthday present." He quoted from his memory, hoping that it would trigger something in Victor's own.

It seemed to do the trick. Victor's features stilled and he stopped in mid snarl to consider something for a moment. There was something in those words. Something that just wasn't _quite_ Logan the X-man and was instead rather reminiscent of…

Victor studied the younger mutant in front of him. Could it be? He thoroughly searched Logan's features for signs that his mind was just jumping to conclusions—that he was reading into this too meticulously. But his eyes. Those weren't the eyes of an X-man. Jimmy—his Jimmy—was there, somewhere behind those irises. He was sure of it.

"Jimmy?" He asked carefully, cautiously, afraid to receive a negative answer. Or worse; afraid that his little brother would say nothing and just look at him with estranged eyes. But there was no confusion in that intense gaze, just an emotion that Victor couldn't quite make out. If he didn't know better, he'd have said it was relief. But he shot that thought down almost as quick as it rose in his mind; no one looked at Victor Creed with relief in their eyes. Especially not Jimmy—not any more anyway. Not since Stryker.

Logan took a moment for himself, before answering his brother. "Yeah, it's me." He told him after a brief hesitation.

In his marvel, Victor could only put cross his arms and bark out a loud, bemused chuckle.

"Well I'll be damned…" He muttered.

* * *

**Okay I usually try to keep the little black writing at the end of the story to the minimum because they're usually boring and I never read them myself. But I have a few things I should mention.**

**Firstly, I had to do a fair bit of researching on this ****chapter and I spent ages looking up things like dates and names and that sort of thing. However, that doesn't mean that everything I've written is accurate so if one or two things aren't making sense, don't blame it on my laziness, just blame it on my ignorance. **

**Secondly, I have used an actual quote from Wilbur Wright; it's the first paragraph of his speech that I wrote, the one that starts with "my brother and I…" I've taken this out of context, from some years later, since I have no idea what he actually said the day he made his speech but I figured it fit so it could work.**

**Thirdly, and I'm only bringing this up because when I mentioned Logan's longevity near the beginning of the chapter I realised something. I realised that it was completely unclear whether Logan grew up slower than normal (ie: he was physically sixteen for years) or whether he reached a certain point and just stopped aging. I figured that since after people have finished growing, aging is just the breakdown of cells and Logan's body heals broken cells, I'm inclined to go for the later. It's not hugely important for me to state this, but I might be mentioning the brother's childhood in another chapter so I just thought I'd make it clear. **

**Finally, I wrote that Logan and Victor were in a gentleman's club. Though I'm sure most of you know, I decided to note this so I don't land myself in trouble. Back in the early 1900s, a gentleman's club was not some sleazy place that men went to get drunk and…you know. It was, in fact, just a hang out for men. So if the lack of dancing women confused anyone when I mentioned it, I hope I set it straight. **

**Anyway, anyone who's bothered to read all that, congratulations; you're a more patient person then I am. Thanks for reading. As always, the next chapter should be up in a week or two.**


	5. Chapter 5

So the next chapter is finally up. Yay! This took so long for two main reasons, the first and lesser reason was because I got lazy and turned to reading rather than writing. The second was because even as I wrote the last chapter I knew I was digging myself into a hole, after all, I had no idea how Victor and Logan would react to meeting each other. I still don't know if what I wrote would be accurate—or even good for that matter, but this is the best I could think of. But enough of that. Enjoy the next chapter!

--

The sound of the iron poker impaling a cylindrical log of burning wood broke Logan's thoughts and caused him to look up. Victor was tending to the fire as he would any time the sun went down. It looked so normal, so unconscious for Victor that Logan almost forgot he himself had intruded upon his brother's daily routine. But a quick flash of movement from Victor's eyes in his direction released Logan from his existential spell and slammed him back down into the current situation.

They were both tense, as tense as they had ever been in each other's company, as far as Logan could remember anyway. Neither of them had spoken a word since they entered Victor's little hut. There seemed to be too many questions, too many feelings for him to just go and blurt out what he wanted—needed—to say. Victor's mind was a mystery to Logan, as it always seemed to be since he had lost his memory all those years ago. His brother was uneasily quiet, not saying anything at all apart from "Well I supposed you'd better come in." after they had stood in that little face-off of theirs for about fifteen minutes.

At that point, Victor had pushed past Logan and entered the little log cabin, sitting in the seat that was furthest from the door and facing him. After that, he had followed Victor inside and had sat down in the seat he was sitting in to this moment. They hadn't spoken or moved until the sun went down and Victor started the fire. Then, he had sat back in the chair and they resumed their attempt at being still life. They continued on with their parallel meeting until that moment when Victor poked the fire with the iron rod. In fact, it wasn't until his brother spoke to him that Logan was capable of addressing the other mutant.

"So you remember, then?" Victor asked as he sat himself heavily back down into his chair.

Logan cleared his throat. "Eh, yeah, some of it. I know enough, I guess."

Victor considered this for a moment. "So, yer not angry?" He asked a little too hopefully. He rubbed the stubble on his chin. His appearance had changed somewhat since Logan had last seen him on the Statue of Liberty all that time ago. He no longer had his hair in that ridiculous long mop and the moustache was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his brother had reverted back to his close cut hairstyle and while he no longer had the mutton chops, he had something that was not quite a beard but almost too long for stubble. He looked haggard, like he hadn't been keeping good care of himself. It was probably true too; Logan had always been the one that motivated Victor to keep himself strong. Whether it was so he could protect his little brother or compete with him, Logan wasn't sure, but it didn't matter, since it did the trick.

"What is there to be angry 'bout?" Logan asked with a slight frown.

Victor looked at him for a moment, unsure whether he should say something or not. He decided soon after that silence was best for the moment and he just shook his head. "Aw, you know, 'cos I never tried to get back in touch. After 'Liberty', you know?"

"Nah, s'ppose I not." Logan said, "But why _didn't_ you say anythin'? Why'd you just attack me?"

Victor looked embarrassed as he scratched the back of his head and averted his eyes. "'Cos it wasn't exactly me back then." He grunted, clearing his throat with sincere humility.

"Sure smelled like you." Logan muttered with a scowl.

Victor's face darkened, his embarrassment turning to anger. "Yeah well it wasn't. You always said the beast inside o' me would take over some day and you were right. You happy now? You proved me wrong; I couldn't control what I was doin'. Some mutant that worked with Magneto brought out the beast forcibly one day. After that, it didn't want to go back inside. I was trapped in my own body. But don't think I still wouldn't have beat yer ass if I hadn't been. You deserve a lickin' for leavin' me like you did."

Logan frowned. "I left?" He asked in confusion.

Victor's anger dissipated as he looked at his brother. "Thought you said yer memories were back?" He said in a voice that was almost sulky and almost suspicious but not quite either.

"I said they're comin' back. I don't know everythin' yet."

Victor scoffed. "You don't know nothin'…" He told his brother.

For some reason, this got Logan's hackles up and he growled as he shifted nearer the edge of the seat leaning slightly forward.

"Now look here," Logan said sternly, "I'm not able to remember everythin' just yet. But that's ain't my fault. So stop actin' like it is."

Victor stayed very still for a moment and then shook his head slowly. "Nah," He said after a few seconds, "You ain't Jimmy. Yer nothin' like he was…"

The fire crackled, the birds that remained outside gave hesitant goodnight caws but the world for the two mutants had stopped. The beast inside Logan, who was unusually active lately, demanded blood and was roaring for Victor's. The logical part of his mind knew that anger at such a statement was ridiculous; Victor's disapproval should have meant next to nothing, it should have washed over him and be done with. But there was a cord somewhere deep inside his body that was already strung tight and Victor's words were as sharp as his nails, snapping it clean in two. With barely restrained fury, Logan stood up. His hands shook with the effort of keeping his claws in their confines, his knuckles were white. "Oh yeah?" He asked, his voice shook, "Who am I then?"

Victor ran his tongue over his teeth and gazed darkly at the other as he stood slowly up.

"Yer nothin' but Jimmy's shadow."

With a blur of movement, Logan found himself decking Victor and impaling him on six long adamantium claws. Teeth snapped and growls and snarls accompanied bits of flying flesh and hair in their little brawl. The already sparse room was left in further disarray as they tumbled and rolled into and through various pieces of furniture. Logan roared with fury; anger, pain and resentment seemed to come out of nowhere, now invaded and conquered his body and filled his muscles with strength.

But Victor wasn't about to keel over and let the other feral defeat him. His own feelings mirrored Logan's and with just as much ferocity, he fought back. He grabbed Logan's sternum, his claws breaking through the flesh and bone in his grasp, and he shoved his younger sibling backwards. Logan flailed as his lack of balance made him trip over the pile of misplaced books and made him stumble to stay standing. Victor saw the weakness in his opponent's defence and lunged for him, sending them both through the closed front door. The thin layer of wood never stood a chance as it smashed under the weight of an adamantium skeleton and an equal measure of organic flesh. The two fell onto muddy ground with a thud, crashing into the carcass that Victor had abandoned. With the simultaneous proclamation of 'eww', they momentarily broke apart to study the now squished caribou. The spectacle seemed to calm the two down. Logan certainly no longer felt the all-consuming desire to rip Victor's head from his shoulders. The woods were quiet and the moon had taken its place in the sky, shimmering brighter than necessary for them to see every little detail around them.

The two brothers stood side by side, looking down at the mess and trying to ignore the pieces of flesh and blood that had smudged onto opposite sides of their clothing. They weren't really paying quite as much attention to carcass as much as thinking about what had just happened. Victor was thinking about the man standing beside him, he wasn't quite as his brother had been—but then again, he wasn't X-man Logan. He was reminded of the Jimmy who had hung around after World War II, the lost little brother who had wandered from Poland to the Philippians. Soon, Victor realised that he could deal with this, he'd rather have his brother than some broken version of him, but he could deal with it. Eventually, Victor turned to Logan. "You hungry, Jimmy?" He asked with a grin, motioning to the caribou carcass.

Login studied him carefully for a very brief second. He snorted with his brother's messed up humour and nodded. "Sure," He said, "Why not."

--

It was late by the time they had eaten their share of food. The two of them were sitting outside of the cabin, unconsciously regarding the stars as they rode the warm, happy feeling of caribou steak in their stomachs. The shimmering moon illuminated the glistening moisture droplets on the long grasses near the solitary building, which in turn reflected the light back onto the two mutants. The valley was peaceful now, utterly silent. It wasn't the same as earlier when they had been fighting; it was different, less forced and more natural. Neither of them spoke, but it was no longer out of fear or uncertainty, rather it was because words would have broken the peacefulness they rarely experienced. However, Logan, despite knowing he would curse this moment, had questions that needed to be answered. Without looking to Victor, he asked what was on his mind.

"What is this place?" He asked looking to the moon.

Perhaps it wasn't the best way to phrase the question; perhaps it was crude and insensitive. Logan almost ashamed to not hold more reverie in his voice as he spoke, and to not have more wonder in his eyes as his words invaded the serene air. This was an emotion that confused him and made him angry enough to swear profusely in his head, but it came from some place deep within. A place inside him that was truer than the facts in his head. Logan grimaced, he sounded like one of those nancy boys in Kitty Pryde's romance novels. He felt like he should wash his thoughts with soap.

Still despite whatever feelings he might have in relation to his lack of reverence to this place, Victor didn't seem to share any similar opinions. He just grunted and shrugged, trying to not be bugged with his brother's ignorance.

"It's our home." He told him, "Least it was. We made it years ago, when we were still kids. 'Course it's bin refurbished so many times by now, it looks completely different to what it was a hundred years ago." Victor seemed to be happy enough to ramble on about the cabin so Logan let him.

"I tried to keep it the same as it was, you know, in case you ever came back to it—though it might jog yer memory, or somethin', guess not though, eh? Oh well, it'll come back, probably, since yer already recoverin' from that adamantium bullet in yer skull I s'ppose. Damn miracle that was, to think ya even survived it is—"

Logan frowned and cut Victor off. "Adamantium bullet?" He asked quickly, effectively stopping Victor's chain of thought.

Victor realised he'd let information slip. Information that his brother didn't know about. That could be bad for him. It could end him waking up dead in his bed, with his head somewhere half way to Alaska. Victor figured it was time for some of his world famous evasive techniques.

"Figuratively speakin', o' course." He said quickly, patting himself on the back afterwards for another jaw-droppingly good save. Logan narrowed his eyes, all too aware that his brother had just pulled the worst lie ever and was covering it up with even poorer finesse. Honestly, if he wanted Logan to believe him more often he should stop grinning to himself after he lied every time. Still, he didn't push it. Victor, he knew, would fight his corner to the death and Logan hadn't come here for bodies, he had come for answers, so he said nothing and just nodded, looking back to the sky. A few minutes past and Victor yawned loudly. "I'm hittin' the sack, you goin' to stay willingly or do I have to beat you unconscious?" He asked in about the fondest way he'd ever manage asking someone to stay with him.

Logan nodded, "Yer sure?" He asked.

Victor scoffed. "I got a spare room and yer here, who else d'you think'd be stoppin' in? Martha Stuart? Get yer sorry ass inside before I kick you out for bein' so goddamn stupid."

Logan shook his head with amusement and, realising that would be the best welcome he'd get, he got to his feet and followed Victor inside. The door to cabin shut with a dull thud and outside, the cicadas started up again.

--

It was an earlier time, and it was snowing. Two brothers moved through the cold as easily as if it had been summer. They had been on the move for weeks, first because of the angry mob that had chased them, then because a young, teenaged Victor just hadn't been able to sit still. Victor turned around and noticed his little brother had fallen a few steps behind him.

"Jimmy, hurry up, we don't have time to pick up every goddamned rock you find." He called to the younger boy who was still in the rich people's robes from the night he had slaughtered his birth father. The thing looked ragged and pitiful at this stage but it was an extra pair of pockets and Jimmy refused to let it go.

"Sorry," James Howlett said as he got up from the ground and snuck something into his pocket. "But just so you know, it's not a stone, it's a pine cone. And look, it's open!"

He told his brother, taking out the pinecone and showing the marvellous find to his apathetic brother. Victor just rolled his eyes and upbraided his brother for picking up something so useless. Still, Jimmy refused to have his pinecone humiliated like that and he held it close to his chest, frowning as he mused over the possible reasons why Victor couldn't appreciate something so amazing. The only remedy his pre-teen mind could conjure; was to overload his brother with facts until he finally understood the magnificence of the pinecone.

He spoke for fifteen minutes, slamming fact after fact into Victor's head until he could no longer listen to the annoying twitter of his brother's unbroken voice.

"…And the best thing about the pinecone," Jimmy continued, "is that it opens when it senses water and closes when it doesn't. It is amazing, isn't it, Victor? Victor, isn't it? Isn't it amazing?" Jimmy pressed oblivious to the rising frustration in his brother.

"Victor?" He asked again.

"Shut up, Jimmy!" Victor exploded after a moment, "I don't care about those damn pinecones. I hate pinecones. The next pinecone I see I'm going to insert into your mouth through your stomach. Shut up about the bloody pinecones, for God's sake." Victor looked away and fumed. Jimmy stood still and watched his brother with wide eyes. By the time the older mutant looked back around, Jimmy was looking up at him with watery eyes brimming with tears and a lip that was quivering pathetically. Victor instantly felt bad about his immature outburst and winced at the unwanted effect the other's distress was having on him.  
"Aw, look, I'm sorry Jimmy. I didn't mean what I said; I just have a lot on my mind, that's all."

Jimmy nodded and bit his lip. "I know, Victor, that's why I didn't want to complain to you. That's why I didn't want you to know that my feet hurt and I'm tired and hungry and I don't want to walk anymore. I miss my home."

Victor sighed the long-suffering sigh of the guardian of a child. "I know, Jimmy, I know." He said putting his arm around the younger boy and subtly getting him to keep moving, "We can't go home, you know that. But that's not going to matter soon—do you know why?" He asked.

Jimmy didn't know why and answered as such.

"'Cos we're going to make our own home. We'll find somewhere good, a valley where there's plenty of food and water and trees and we'll build our very own home. Stick with me, Jimmy; I'll keep you safe. Together, we're going to be the toughest brothers the world has ever seen."

Feeling somewhat happier about being led off into the unknown, James Howlett followed his brother further into the Canadian wilderness. It was scary how easy it was to get lost in such a vast expanse of land, luckily though, getting completely and utterly lost was what a youthful Victor had in mind. After all, if they didn't know where they were, surely the people who were chasing them wouldn't either, right? Later, after years of life had seriously changed his naïve views, Victor would cringe at his terrible strategic figuring and the decisions that he had so often made because of it. Luckily though, the angry hoards that hunted them, had given up long before that moment and the lapse of judgement would not cause them any damage.

Together the two brothers walked further on in their journey. They walked for another two days before they came across the valley where they would live for so long. When they settled in the valley, Victor and Jimmy spent two full weeks doing very little other than making their new home. Of course the first time that they attempted making a building, it failed miserably after the first stormy weather and they had to dig themselves out of a heap of wood and leaves. The younger brother did, however, manage to save his pinecone collection, much to Victor's chagrin. With the failure of their first house, the brother's attempted to make another. Victor spent hours upon hours sitting at the chosen site, trying to figure out how he was going to do it. All the while, Jimmy petitioned for a tree house because, as he said, it _would_ be better from a defensive point of view. His comments earned the young mutant a clip on the back of his head and a muttered "Shut up" from Victor.

Two months after the first failure, however, Victor and Jimmy looked at their own newly finished house proudly. At that time, it wasn't even remotely similar looking to the cabin that Logan would stumble upon over a century later. Rather it was the backbone of what would become the best thing that had happened to them since they discovered their lineage. It was home.

--

Logan stopped walking through the cabin and scowled. He put his hand to his temple and let out a slightly breathless groan. It might have irked him that he had shown any form of weakness in front of someone who had once been an enemy and could potentially be one once again. Fortunately, the memories still were too much a part of that moment for him to hear his slip-up. Victor glared at him from behind.

"What's with you?" He asked Logan with a voice that sounded agitated but was somewhat concerned in actuality.

Logan shook his head, "Just remembered buildin' this place." He muttered.

Victor snorted, "This always happen when you remember somethin'?"

Logan sighed, "Not always. Sometimes."

Victor looked at him for a very brief moment—and then shrugged. "Right. Goodnight." He said and moved past Logan and into his own bedroom before shutting the door with a light thud.

Logan stared into space for a moment and then moved into the spare room that used to be his. Tired after his day's activities, Logan sat on the bed, took his boots, his belt and his rustic patterned shirt off and climbed into bed. It didn't bother him that he was going to sleep in his jeans and vest; since he could sleep like a log when he needed to, and if someone did try and kill him, he'd be ready.

Logan curled into himself and fell asleep, hoping for the first time ever, that his memories would just leave him alone and that he'd get a proper night's sleep for once. No such luck.

--

It started out as a dream; this memory hidden in his subconscious's random drabble. In his dream, he was sitting in a bar. He'd never been in that place before—at least he didn't think he had. It was a miserable place, lonely and dirty. The area was poor and the only other people that were in the establishment, stared miserably down at their dirt-cheap alcoholic beverages. It was quite a large bar, and though he couldn't see the outside, the building could have been a barn that was converted or a small storage unit. It occurred to him that the only reason there was a bar in a barn-like building, was because his mind was seriously messed up. However, once he had established this fact, it somehow made the experience easier to deal with. He decided to sit back and let the stupid, pointless thing play out however it chose.

The waiter, an elderly man with a mass of wrinkles and bad teeth came up to him and asked what he wanted to drink.

"Whisky, no ice." Logan told him, holding up his hand and showing the man his index and middle finger to order the measure. The man nodded and left, coming back a few moments later to deliver the drink. Logan put his hand into his pocket, looking for money but turning out to be penniless. He looked up to the barman to apologise but the elderly man shook his head.

"It's been paid for already." He told the mutant.

Logan frowned in confusion. "By who?" He asked.

The barman nodded his head to someone behind Logan. Logan was about to turn to look when the mysterious person spoke.

"Hello Logan." A well-known, much missed voice told him.

Logan stilled in fear and turned around to see the woman who had spoken.

"Jean?" He asked in a voice that was cracking with both pain and disbelief.

Jean smiled warmly.

Logan took that moment to look her over. God, she was as beautiful as the day she died.

As the day you killed her…

She was wearing a suit, black and tailored with care and precision. Her shirt was white and just a little bit see-through and she was wearing the pair of red stilettos that Logan had once told her he loved. To match the shoes, her nails were painted red on her toes and fingers. Looking to her hands, Logan's shoulders slumped when he saw the gold and diamond engagement wrapped itself around her finger like a poisonous snake. Anger welled up inside of him, making him want to growl and snarl at the blatant mark of ownership that was not his own.

_I'm the one who loved her; I'm the one who did what she asked. I killed her! And she picked __**him**__? After everything I did for her, she picked the Boy Scout? Hell, she chose a dead guy, a guy she __**killed**__ for god's sake, over me. What the hell do I have to do to win her over? What the hell can I do to show her I'm good enough for her? _

Jean Grey smiled as if she had heard his thoughts as easily as if he'd said it aloud. She took that moment to advance on his seated form. Logan gulped, wondering what she was going to do and hoping that it involved her on his lap with their lips meeting. But she disappointed him once more as she changed direction in the last moment and sat on the bar stool beside him. He watched as she elegantly turned herself around on the chair and crossed her legs. He followed her lead and turned also, looking on as she ordered her own drink to the barman. A bottle of Budweiser was placed on the counter in front of her and she smiled up at the old man in thanks. Logan frowned at that.

"I didn't think you drank beer." He commented as he watched her take a swig.

Jean Grey swallowed loudly and smiled looking over at Logan with a cheeky look on her face. "That's because I don't, Logan. You know that."

"Then why are you…" Logan began but trailed off, figuring it wasn't important. He took a sip of his own drink and closed his eyes, enjoying the taste. "So what are you doing here?" He asked instead.

Jean had a knowing smile, but it disturbed Logan because it was vacant and somehow not Jean. He let her know it, too.

"Yer not Jean, are you?" He asked the Jean that was not Jean.

The woman looked down at her suit to hide the silent laughter that she could not quite keep down. She shook her head when she had composed herself once more and looked brightly to Logan.

"No, Logan, I am not."

Logan growled. "Who the hell are you?" He demanded as his claws appeared unintentionally.

The 'not-Jean' did not seem in the least perturbed by Logan's dangerous built-in weapons. She looked him dead in the eyes, the intensity of her gaze burning his retinas. He wanted to look away, but the Wolverine inside of him growled in his inner ear, warning him like a stern parent to not even _dare_ look away. He needed this, his wolverine told him. This was, apparently, important.

Jean eventually spoke. "I am not Jean." She said, as if Logan had not already known. "Jean is dead, her soul in a place that you will not know for a very, very long time." The 'not-Jean' stopped talking, as if what she said would be enough. Logan was losing his patience. He clenched his fist.

"Who. Are. You?" He posed it as a question—but he wasn't asking, it was a most definite demand.

Jean's imposer gave a melodramatic sigh. "Oh Logan," She said with exasperation, "I would have hoped you would remember me. I am the woman who you tried to replace _with_ Jean."

Logan frowned, now understanding that this was more than a dream but not sure to what extent. "You're a mutant?" He asked, wondering if the mysterious woman had used her powers to invade his vulnerable subconscious.

There was a small upturning of 'not-Jean's' lips, but it was too sad to be called a smile. "I was a mutant, yes." She said, looking away in pain.

"Was?" He asked. "You got the cure?" He wondered allowed, but not sure how she could still contact him if she lost her abilities.

The woman shook her head, Jean's short red hair flipping from side-to-side with the other woman's actions. "No, not a cure, death. But you know that, you just don't remember that you do."

"What are you?"

The impostor nodded Jean's head. "Good." She said, "You're beginning to see things as they are. I'm not a person, Logan, I am the memory of a person that you can't yet remember."

"That doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't. Not yet." The woman agreed. "You still don't know the extent of yourself."

Whatever Logan might have liked to say in that moment, got stuck in his throat and he stopped, not sure how to make sense of what this mysterious woman was saying. She seemed to understand and she laughed into her hand, something that was definitely not Jean.

"Your brain's trying to remember me, Logan," She told him, "It really wants to, but it can't just yet. It knows me—some of me—my characteristics, your feelings for me. It doesn't know what I look like though, it thinks it has an idea, but it doesn't. So, your brain, your poor, damaged brain, summoned the memory of the woman who was my substitute so that you could meet me, and remember me."

Logan grunted, disbelievingly. "I don't remember anythin' bout you."

The woman nodded but looked just a little sad, despite her understanding. "No, it appears not. But you will, I'm sure."

"Can't you just tell me?" He asked desperately, getting sick of this whole damn dream.

The woman used Jean's face to scowl in annoyance. "No, because I am a part of you and _you_ don't know who I am which means _I_ don't know who I am." Logan understood what the woman was saying, but that didn't mean he wasn't frustrated out of his mind because of it.

"So how do I remember you?"

'Not-Jean' shrugged. "Watch me, I suppose, notice what I do, how I speak, how I move. You should even pay attention to what I drink, I guess. But you know all this, after all, I am a part of you, right?"

Logan nodded and began to watch the woman. "Jean doesn't drink bear, but you do." He muttered.

The woman nodded in agreement. "Budweiser in particular, apparently." She noted.

Logan studied her harder. "Yer not quite as smooth as Jean—movement wise, I mean."

The woman looked vaguely insulted. "Explain." She ordered sharply, using Jean's voice in a way that Jean would not _ever_ use it—not even as Phoenix.

Logan shook his head, not realising that he could have hurt his imagination's feelings. "I mean, you move more practically, like you've lived…I don't know…" He thought about it for a moment. He was getting somewhere with this train of thought, he knew he was. Maybe if he just kept rambling on, saying any nonsense that came to his head, he might eventually make some sense. "I've seen a woman move like you do once. I'm not sure where but I've seen it. She didn't work in a fancy place or nothin'. But it was nice; I think—I think I liked it. It suited her. It was somethin' I couldn't do. Somethin' I didn't quite understand. She was a…gardener? No, but she looked after things. A vet, maybe? A doctor?"

He stopped for a brief second. No, he still wasn't right, but he was close. Like he had it on the tip of his tongue.

"Hmm, I think you're getting close, Logan." The woman said. "Very close, my wolverine."

"Wolverine?" He asked.

The woman shrugged. "Oh I don't know. But then, I'll never know if you don't know. So try harder, I'm interested now."

Logan sighed and continued with his ramblings, picking up where he left off. "So she helped people, she looked after them, like a nurse. But she was too gentle to be a nurse, more like a…child minder?"

The woman growled, "Your so close Logan, don't screw this up." She sounded more like him than Jean or any other woman he'd ever met in that moment.

Logan took some more time to consider the situation in his head. He gulped down a mouthful of whisky to give him the kick he needed to set himself on it.

"You said you were dead, right?" He asked, needing to be sure she did actually say that.

The woman gave a curt nod. "Yes, I am most definitely dead. A pity really, I had quite a lot to live for."

Logan gave her a strange look but didn't comment on the extra bit of information she had given him. Instead he filed it away for further use. "Hmm," He said slowly, "If you know yer dead, I must know yer dead. 'Cos yer me, right?"

The woman grinned. "That's it," She beamed, "You're starting to play this right. So how many women have you seen that have died since your unfortunate memory lapse?"

"Too many." Logan grunted thinking of Jean and all the others he had the misfortune of seeing.

"That's not very helpful, is it?" The woman mused. "Think of one that really effected you. Near the beginning of your memories. Come on Logan, this dream will not go on forever, you need to get a move on or all this progress that we've made will be lost. Think!"

And Logan thought, but his thoughts went to Jean again, the look in her eyes when he impaled her with his claws, the blood dripping down her chin as he lungs filled up. Her skin as it whitened with shock and blood loss and death. Her hair that splayed around her as he placed her on the ground, her hands that he arranged to rest lightly, clasped on top of her stomach. Her eyes that had been left open, he had closed carefully, tearfully.

Logan frowned. A sharp spike of pain brought attention to that last thought. Her eyes? He had closed someone else's eyes before hadn't he? Someone whom he hadn't cried over, but he wanted to—even if he didn't understand why. Suddenly, he remembered the day he woke up with no idea who he was. He remembered a dull throb in his skull as he pushed himself off of the ground and looked around in confusion. He remembered a mutant, Gambit his name might have been, and the man had tried to get him into a plane. They were in trouble, right? But why? He staggered a few steps with the man who had said something about the others getting away, whoever the others might have been, he wasn't sure.

And then he saw her. Lying on the ground, dead. Her hands clasped over her stomach, her eyes wide open, staring at nothing and taking in less. Blood bloomed on her stomach like a macabre flower in the springtime, staining her clothes and her once flawless skin. He looked to her face, beautiful and surprisingly peaceful and Logan felt a wave of shame and guilt at not being able to protect her—whoever she was. He brought his hand down and closed her grey eyes. He looked to her hair, black and splayed around her—like Jean's but it was not Jean's. All of a sudden, a name floated up from the depths of his injured brain.

"Kayla…" He muttered in surprise.

He turned to the woman beside him, her appearance had changed, now mirroring the woman he had once loved.

She smiled. "Hello Logan."

--

Logan woke up in the bed in the cabin, covered in sweat and the smell of fear. The name Kayla Silverfox kept playing in his head. Disjointed instances when he had said her name or heard it were on a constant rerun like a damn night-time TV commercial. He heard his voice call to her in so many different ways, in curiosity, in friendship, love, lust, pain, sorrow, anger, hatred and finally in guilt. Next a barrage of images joined the bodiless voices in his head as they forced their way behind his burning eyeballs. He saw himself and Kayla in a country bar, each of them stealing not altogether subtle glances across the room. She came up to him that night and took him to her home, the next morning she had convinced him to stay in the area.

He saw the woman at work, the mystery finally solved as he watched through the eyes of his memory while she helped a group of young children clean up the paints and unused papers from a day at school. He saw her turn to him and wave and the memory gave way to another.

The next moment in time was of the woman he clearly loved covered in blood, without a pulse, lifeless. He saw himself cradle her body and howl like a wolverine to the moon, swearing revenge on Victor, her murderer.

Next he felt anger, pain—both emotional and physical, he felt the need for revenge, fury. He saw himself with a young William Stryker agreeing to some sort of enhancement procedure. Stryker asked him if he remembered what they were looking for in Africa. Logan did not but his memory nodded and the scene ended.

Images built up faster, he remembered a man called John Wraith, another who was the size of a large elephant and a boxing ring. He saw the streets of New Orleans and the man called Gambit once again. He saw Victor and felt the hate and rage he had for him.

He saw an island. The three-mile island. Once again the image of Stryker was present and soon was his dead lover, Kayla. There was once again the pain of betrayal as she stood alive and well. Then he felt the acceptance as she told him about her sister. And he discovered a surprising amount of understanding. After all, he'd have done it or his brother, once upon a time. Another moment that was ended as Victor promptly attacked him. He had left him unconscious as Logan staggered towards all those cages and freed the poor kids inside.

He watched himself fight with a mutant who had a curious amalgamation of his and other mutant's abilities. Soon after, he saw Victor come to his rescue, saving him from decapitation on a nuclear reaction. He experienced the long forgotten thrill of fighting back to back with his brother.

But when it was over, he saw her. Kayla. Shot and wounded and dying. He saw Stryker and he ran to kill him. Then there was pain; blinding, surreal pain and he went down. An adamantium bullet through the skull. And then there was silence, darkness. There was nothing. He had been so sure he was dead. So sure that the indestructible weapon X had finally been destroyed, put down as the rabid animal he acted like.

But then he felt light and heard his heart beat. He sensed the neurons in his brain resume their firing and make pathways around the scarred tissue that had not been there before. And Logan opened his eyes to find himself awake and alone, his only source of identification were the dog tags that read 'Logan' and 'Wolverine'.

Logan knew the rest.

The images stopped coming to him. He panted hard on the bed and endured the sharp pain as another memory was restored and a piece of his scarred brain healed. He looked around the room, finding it still dark, but there was a hint of light that could be seen through the small glass window to the side. Logan got out of bed and got dressed; he couldn't stay here any longer. He had to go out, at least for a walk. He had to clear his head and find away to deal with the heavy artillery emotions that demolished his defences. Now he would deal with the grief of losing Kayla. Now, over twenty years later, Logan would mourn for the life he had lost.

Logan left the house, closing the door with a light click, hoping he wouldn't wake Victor.

--

But Victor had already been awake. He was awoken to the sound of his little brother's pained pants and growls from whatever memory or nightmare that haunted him tonight. Years ago, Victor would have been used to his brother's nightly visitors from the past, but he had been alone for a very long time and had grown used to the silence of solitude. His enhanced hearing allowed him to listen as the rustle of clothing signified his brother's getting dressed and the sound of the door clicking proved he was leaving. Outside, Victor could just about hear the grass crunching underneath Logan's boots as the other mutant walked away from his brother once again. Victor huffed and turned over in his bed. He growled and struck his pillow before putting it over his hand and will himself to fall asleep. What did he care if Logan was leaving? It meant nothing to him—less then nothing. In fact, he was glad the other mutant was gone, now he could get back to his peaceful lifestyle that his brother had impeded on. Yeah, he didn't need Logan, that kid was nothing more than a liability; he made Victor weak into the bargain, always holding him back. Well no more. Logan could do what he liked, let him run back to his X-men buddies and tell them his brother was living a sad, lonely life in the Canadian wilderness. Let him gossip and ridicule and laugh. Victor didn't care anyway…

Even as he thought those things, the twisting in his gut mocked him, letting him know just how much he _had_ missed his little brother. Reminding him of all the times he thought of going down south and finding Logan and telling him everything. Nor would it let him forget all the foolish hopes he had gotten when he saw Logan standing inside his cabin, hoping it could be like old times, before the worst of everything. But these were childish thoughts that Victor was not eager to remind himself of and he pushed them to the back of his head, once again trying to force sleep on his alert mind.

Sleep did not come easily to Victor for the rest of the night, but when it did come, he was so sound asleep that he didn't hear the door open and Logan return in. Whether it was because of tiredness or his brain had known the other mutant wasn't a threat was hard to say, but the younger mutant slipped back inside without alerting his brother. Later, the sound of birds would wake Victor, along with the smell of breakfast being cooked. But for now, his mind displayed all the fears of his brother abandoning him in dream form as instance after instance of a poorly portrayed Logan left his brother's life.

--

Hope you liked it, tell me what you think.


	6. Chapter 6

**So yeah. I'm back. Yay! Really sorry it took so long. I've been writing as much as I can but being back in school and all, I've had hardly any time. It doesn't help that I have really important exams at the end of the year either. So, keeping that in mind, I'm going to have to write in the small pockets of time I get between studying and school.**

**I want to thank everyone who reviewed and sent me private messages. I really appreciate them and they really gave me the motivation to write this chapter. Speaking of which, this chapter is on the short side. I was going to write one big long chapter, but then I decided to split it ****into two slightly smaller ones. This way, at least, you won't all think I've given up on the story. :)**

**Well I think I've spoken enough, so enjoy the chapter!**

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The sound of the chopper's rotors whipping through the cold, high altitude air hazed Logan in and out of his half-conscious slumber. The dull _thump, thump, thump_ of the revolving metal propellers sounded like a bird's wing beating the air beside his eardrums. Yet the gentle humming of the flying machine's engine reminded him of how inorganic and unnatural the sound actually was. It reminded him once more of the farce of human flight that he had yet again been forced to endure.

Logan was suffering from a very pointless, time-consuming struggle within himself. He was unwilling to crack open his eyes and finally rid himself of the enslaving fatigue that held his consciousness captive behind his eyelids. Yet he no longer wanted to be so shrouded in such a controlling element, and he disliked the vulnerability attached to it.

Finally, Logan rolled his eyes beneath their lids and opened them to look around. He brought his hands up and rubbed the burning sensation away from his retinas. Studying his surroundings, the mutant noticed—without much surprise—that he was still in the helicopter, on his way with the rest of the group to some secret mission. The powerful Colonel Stryker had recruited him and Victor about five months previously. At the time, the possibility of getting out of that damn rat infested prison had been a sweet deal. Moreover, the prospect of doing something worthwhile with their abilities, made Victor's heart practically stop with irrational eagerness. Back then, Logan had been unsure how to react to such a proposition; it seemed too good to be true. And Logan knew that if something seemed that way, it probably was. He had known and experienced enough incidents to back up his theory time after time.

But even though he was suspicious, Logan knew the only way of them ever getting out of their personal death row, was to go willingly with the mysterious Stryker. And if the man's intentions were less than patriotic, then surely they'd get out of that situation as well.

Thankfully, they didn't have to worry about knocking Stryker over the head and legging it down the road. Instead they arrived safe and sound in their new living quarters. There were problems—minor ones—like the problem of having to be in constant close contact with five other mutants…but Logan could learn to deal with that. Victor had a slightly harder time, especially when their new acquaintance Wade Wilson would sing in the shower every morning at dawn from the next room. But, as Logan had to remind his brother, at least they weren't sharing the same room with the man who didn't seem to value his life—or at least vocal cords.

Logan had to admit though, in his darker hours, Wade was _not_ always the easiest person to get on with. He would talk about anything, everything, nothing and then something else. If he ran out of things to say, he resorted to discussing personal flaws with each of the others in the team. John Wraith dealt with this annoying habit the easiest, always nodding and allowing Wade to continue until he went too far. At that point, Wraith would just teleport over to the swordsman and sock him one in the stomach before returning happily to his seat. But that was a rare occurrence. Rare, and beautiful, according to Victor.

Despite that, and other small bumps in the road, all in all, the two brothers had settled quite happily into their new role as members of a team. Logan was glad, he supposed, but he couldn't help but wonder how long they would be staying. He knew there wasn't much point in making best buddies with anyone, since they'd be going soon, but he'd found himself enjoying the easy company of John Wraith. The quiet mutant wasn't all that aggressive, he didn't take any particular joy in killing things, and he wasn't always threatening to rip out Wade Wilson's throat out. They didn't talk all that much, but there was a certain ease between them. Which in Logan's mind was just as good as the camaraderie Stryker always said they should all feel, being members of the same team. Logan was sure not to mess that relationship up, and he forcibly commanded Victor to stay away from him if he couldn't treat Wraith with—at the very least—polite indifference. Upon being asked why Logan was so definite about this, he refused to answer his brother. But the reason was simple; if there was at least _one_ person that could tolerate, or maybe, God forbid, even _like_ him then maybe if things ever went bad, they might make it out. Well, _of course_ they'd make it out, but he wasn't sure he wanted to spend his time in some mutant-poof cell while they figured out how to kill him. No. Wraith would be his trump card, if he ever needed one.

Logan's thoughts were interrupted by Styker's commanding voice as his figure appeared from the cockpit where his little dog Nord was flying the machine.

"We're getting ready to descend. Look sharp. Once you step foot on those grounds you are on in a war zone. D'you hear?"

"Right boss," Wade said quickly with a rapid succession of nods, "Of course, war zone, I get it, fierce-like. Bodies, explosions, decapitation. Got it." He saluted quickly with a charming grin.

Stryker ignored it and merely addressed his words. "Not quite, Wilson, it's a war zone, but we're not in it. Officially, no American will set foot on this soil during the current…conflict. This is strictly a stealth mission. We go in. Get what we need. Then go out, got it?"

Wade Wilson nodded furiously, sheathing his swords as he did.

The colonel wasn't convinced. He scowled. "I'm serious Wilson, if we're found to be here we'll have more than just angry locals to worry about. You'll all be put into the darkest, most obscure prison where they'll poke and prod you until you die in some lab test."

Wade blinked. "Aw, sir, I didn't know you cared; I'm touched."

"Shut. Up. Wilson." Victor growled under his breath in barely contained frustration. Logan gave him a warning look which, when the helicopter shuddered in the sky, turned into one of well-hidden panic and fear.

"Victor, leave 'im, it ain't worth it." Logan said in a weak voice as he shook his head and took a deep breath.

"Yeah Victor, you heard him, good boy." Wilson said with a delighted smirk.

Victor sneered, his nails lengthened involuntary. He leaned forward, looking as if he was going to pummel the swordsman. But after a length, the tension in his muscles eased and he sat back, his nails retreating back into his cuticles. He shrugged.

"Yer nothin' I can't handle, Wilson." Victor told him, and then stopped. "But I ain't gonna be goaded into anythin'."

"That's enough you two, we're descending now, so keep your heads about you."

After that there were no more words as the helicopter lost altitude and hovered just above the ground. Team X was seen for a split second, jumping out of the chopper before disappearing into the thick, endless Peruvian rainforest.

Victor and Logan ran off in one direction, while the others went the way they were supposed to. In their ears, the voice of Colonel Styker told them that they were to head up the mountains, to the lost city of Machu Pichu. From there, they would receive further instruction.

Behind them, they could just about hear the thump of the helicopter's rotors as it glided away from the drop-off point.

"Just like old times, eh Jimmy?" Victor said beside him as they ran, dodging branches and rocks easily.

Logan nodded his head and grunted. "Just like old times." He agreed.

They covered distance at an impressive rate, but slowed down once the earpieces connected to their radios fizzled and cracked with white noise before the voice of John Wraith was suddenly clear.

"They've got guerrillas all over this place. It's gonna but impossible for me to get by here any time soon, even with my teleporting. I'll have to go slow."

"Same here, boss. I think the whole population of Peru is around here. I'm stuck." Wade said in a quiet murmur, proving the validity of his statement.

"Okay then, teams two and four, it's up to you."

"There's a few problems on our front, too, colonel." The voice of Dukes announced, accompanied with Bradley's quiet murmur.

Stryker sighed with frustration. "Fine." He ground out, "That leaves you, Victor, Logan. Get to that damn city before it's ransacked by guerrillas."

"Copy that." Victor said before turning off the radio and looking over to Logan. "Looks like it's just you an' me, little brother."

Logan grunted and nodded his head. "Looks like it." He agreed.

Victor licked his fangs in thought for a brief moment. His lips lifted to a slight smirk and he looked sideways to his brother with a mischievous air.

"I'll race ya'"

Logan raised a brow high. "What's the prize?"

"Loser buys the drinks for a whole night." He told Logan, as if there had _ever_ been any other prize.

Victor's little brother sighed and shook his head. "Why do we always gotta race?" He asked with exasperation.

Victor scratched the back of his head, looking to Logan with a confused frown. He searched for the words. "Why? 'cause it… well…" Victor looked back in the direction that they had come from. He heard a sudden sound coming from where he had just looked away. He snapped his head back to where Logan was—only to find that his baby brother was missing. From the corner of his eye, he saw Logan's wife beater vest and arms pumping away from him. The sharp glint of light indicated that he had his claws out and was ready for a fight.

Victor grinned. "Oh little brother; yer gonna regret that." He laughed as he lengthened his own weapons and went to catch up with the retreating form of the mutant in front.

---

They broke out of the confines of the rainforest as they finally scrambled to the top of the mountain where the lost city, Machu Pichu lay in ruins. Simultaneously, the two mutants declared themselves the winner as they reached the city neck in neck. With their reintroduction to the world, to the sky and the memory of civilisation, Logan looked to the sky, not caring if he hadn't won. Not caring if Victor would say that he lost the bet and that he'd have to buy the drinks. He breathed deeply, his dark eyes enjoying the scene of the thousands of glistening constellations while his lungs were thankful for absence of humidity.

"You listenin' to me or not?" Victor asked with a scowl, ripping Logan's peaceful moment right through the middle.

Logan looked at him. "Nah." He said with a shrug, moving away from Victor and further into the site.

Victor watched him wordlessly, wondering how his baby brother's head worked sometimes.

The city wasn't all that large, though it was very impressive for something made thousands of years ago. Logan wandered through it; he couldn't imagine what he was supposed to be doing here. As soon as Victor stopped staring at his back, he'd turn his radio on and get in contact with Stryker. From there, the colonel would give further details to them, outlining what the real reason for their being here was. In the meantime, Logan would continue to wander.

He heard Victor's voice in the background, as he grunted and drew his nails across a large, prehistoric brick.

"Sure thing. Over." Victor said into his radio. "Yo, Jimmy, you see any secret entrances? There's supposed to be some sort of temple under the city or somethin'."

"I don't see anythin' but it wouldn't be secret if it wasn't hidden." He replied.

Victor grunted and started searching.

It took a few minutes before Logan stumbled upon anything out of the ordinary. He hadn't been looking to the ground while walking around and had failed to see the well-covered hole in the earth. The soil beneath his foot was suddenly non-existent and he fell, managing to fall backwards and landing on the edge of the man-made hole. The coverings fell away with the disruption and Logan took a moment to get off his butt before looking down into it.

"Oh Jesus…" He muttered through an involuntary swallow. "Aw, hell…"

He wanted to step back, to look away—hell he wanted to not have seen that at all. But it was too late. He'd be dreaming about this tonight.

"What's this?" Victor asked, coming up behind the frozen figure of his brother. "Eww, gross." He said as if he hadn't felt a slightly uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Logan could only nod his head slightly—dumbly—without looking away. "It seems the guerrillas were already here." He said quietly.

Down in the hole, the deep, wide, recently dug, hole was one of the most stomach clenching sights he had ever seen. There were some men, but the majority of the bodies were women and children. Corpses, bodies, people. Once. They were dead now. God, they weren't just dead. Slaughtered, brutally, with rusty blades and blunt bullets. The innocence of women and children cruelly blown away like a semtex bomb under a car. Arms and legs were either intertwined with others, or were missing their bodies. Clothes were there only by luck, or rather by chance, because nothing could be seen as lucky in this case. A little girl, whose long hair haloed her face, was staring up towards the skies, not seeing the constellations Logan had admired just minutes ago. Stars meant nothing to glassy eyes. To the little girl who had lived, who had meant something to someone. Or the boy who stared at her, but didn't know he was, that he would continue to do so until the native birds would come down and pluck out his eyes. And the woman who died—shot in the head—with the body of a baby in her arms? She would stay stuck in the parody of protection until the wild beasts ventured up this far and tore the kid from her arms, as the guerrillas could not.

"Shit." Logan gasped as he turned and violently retched on the ground. Whether it was from shock, disgust or the final straw to his sensitive stomach from the flight, he wasn't sure. But it seemed so trivial to even bother considering it. Yet he couldn't help it, his mind grasped for something to cling onto—to distract it.

"It's war Jimmy." Victor said, as if it explained and exonerated everything.

Logan couldn't answer as he retched again, leaving nothing in his stomach. He looked up from his misery, seeing a raven with sleek feathers regarding him with interested eyes.

He knew what it had come for.

The thought made him queasy. His mind's eye ran rampant. He could see the decay, the flesh being ripped from that little girls cheeks by birds, the clothes slowly disintegrating until all that was left were bones and threads, then dust. Then nothing. Until all traces of these people were gone. The music they had loved, the joys they had shared. Vanished, nothing. Only the silence of the eternal Peruvian rainforest, the thoughtful gaze of the ravens, and the memory of a feast.

The raven in front of him twitched its head arbitrarily before hopping towards the newly discovered massacre. Logan snarled in rage. Without realising it, he released his claws and swiped at the bird, getting ready to kill it—to destroy it. Luckily for the bird, with a flap of its wings it withdrew back just enough before Logan could gut it. The bird gave an angry, insulted caw and retreated into the night skies. Logan watched it flee, turning its head back to see if it was being followed before it disappeared in a current of air and glided to find a less troublesome meal. For now.

"It's war, Jimmy." Victor repeated.

Logan was too distracted with his now dry heaves to notice the sorrow in his brother's voice. Even if he had, he would have assumed it was for the people in their mass grave. Had he made that assumption, he would have been wrong.

Victor was by no means happy with what had happened here, but he knew people died every day—this was nothing new. So it was not the people he mourned for, but for Logan, for the little bit of peace that his brother would no longer have. Sometimes Victor wished that Logan had a poor memory, or amnesia or something. Sometimes, he felt like praying for it. But then, what god would answer? Victor sighed. It was getting late; they had to hurry up. Stryker told him that they were looking for some weird hunk of metal. Something called adamantium. It was, apparently, very rare and very important. Victor didn't know what the hell _they_ were doing in Peru. Surely Stryker could have hired one of the locals to look for it but when he had suggested that, the colonel had said it wasn't an option. It pissed Victor off that he was being made into a good little messenger boy, bringing post to and from people. Victor glanced around the ruins. There was no temple here. Stryker had just wasted their time. Not to mention he had given Logan more nightmares.

Victor rubbed his face with sudden fatigue. "Ah, screw it." He said into the air, meaning for his brother to hear, but knowing he wouldn't respond. "There ain't nothin' here. Just creepy birds. C'mon Jimmy, let's get back. I'll tell Stryker we didn't find nothin'. Far as I'm concerned, it was a false lead."

Logan's body had finished its heaving and he was now gaining his breath back. Victor stood protectively over him as he did. He was still his brother, he had still promised to protect him. In that moment, the only things that could get past Victor's impenetrable barrier were Logan's own demons. The one thing Victor was utterly powerless against.

Eventually the younger mutant nodded and got to his feet. He grimaced at the sudden change in his blood pressure and swayed slightly before steadying himself. Victor gave him a pat on the back and steered him away from the pit.

"I could really do with a strong drink right now." Victor said as they left the lost city and began to descend back down.

"You an' me both." Logan agreed.

"When we get back, I'm findin' the first bar and gettin' plastered off my face."

Logan looked sideways; his eyes were bloodshot from getting sick so much. They'd be fine soon, but for now they made him look awful. "I ain't buyin'." He joked weakly in an attempt to keep the conversation going, eliminating the horror of his own thoughts.

"This time it's on me." Victor said after a moment of careful consideration.

It was perhaps the only good news Logan had heard since they first got on that damn chopper. He looked at his older brother with a sincere expression of gratitude. Victor didn't say anything, but he was glad none the less.

When they got to the pick-up area, the others had already arrived. Stryker hadn't been happy when Victor had told him the unfortunate news, but he wasn't too devastated, mumbling something about another possible site in Africa. The flight back was long and awkward. Even Wade had realised something had happened and managed to have enough survival instincts to know that so much as a passing comment to either brother would kill him. In the dull hum of the chopper's engine, Logan was lulled into an exhausted half-slumber. He let out a long, weary sigh—something he hadn't realised he did. He rested his head back on the wall of his metal container and scrunched his eyes shut, trying to ignore the slideshow that was waiting for him behind his lids. Softly, quietly, Logan heard something which could have been in his mind, had he not felt Victor lean in closer to him or feel his brother's breath on his ear.

"It's war, Jimmy."

He knew that. Of course he did.

Logan hated war.

--

Logan was sitting down at the small table in the kitchen of the log cabin when Victor came in that morning. The breakfast that he had decided to prepare was burning and the older mutant had to rush to salvage the remains. Logan barely noticed, spaced out at the table, his eyes glazed with that weepy look that Victor hadn't seen in so many years. It was the look Logan would have when he was kept awake by nightmares of the horrors passed.

"You sleep well?" Victor asked the other mutant, grabbing two plates and putting the charred food onto them. He turned around and held it out to Logan.

Logan's eyes regained their brightness, being released from his thoughts by Victor. He shook his head after a moment, answering the question as if he had only just heard it. "Not really." He admitted, "A lot of stuff was on my mind." He took the plate and looked down at the unappetising food on the plate. "Sorry." He muttered gruffly.

Victor shrugged and didn't say anything about the food. He'd eat pretty much everything. Instead, he addressed something that had been bothering him all night.

"I thought you left." He tried to sound nonchalant, uncaring. Maybe it had worked, but whether it did or not, his little brother's face gave away nothing.

"I did for a while. I needed to think, to get somethin' straight." Logan left out the fact that he had howled at the moon, mourning Kayla Silverfox. He didn't think to add, either, that there was now a rock face in the mountains that was dented as if attacked by thousands of year's worth of erosion. Nor did he mention the frenzy-like scraping he had inflicted upon himself to remove the last of the bullet from his skull. By the time he had come home, all traces of his anguish had been locked away and contained neatly within himself.

Victor shook his head. That hadn't been what he'd meant. "I thought you'd _left_." He repeated. He felt guilty, thinking of all the scenarios he had imagined with his brother's return to the X-men. All the feelings of anger and hatred and jealousy that rose from a place he didn't often listen to.

"Nah. Why would I?" Logan failed to mention that in his pain, the only thought he'd had _was _to get away. To leave, screaming, yelling, shouting, cursing. To retreat back to the life of ignorance, of dull twinges of pain as opposed to soul decimating agony. He would never mention that to Victor. He'd play the good brother. He'd be the good brother.

Victor shrugged, keeping his fears of abandonment low and hidden. Logan wouldn't leave him. He had been the one to come here, not the other way around. Why would he leave? It was stupid. He changed the subject. "What were you thinkin' of, just now." He asked. Picking up a piece of unidentifiable meat with his claws and studying it under a critical gaze. Logan might not leave, but Victor would sure as hell kick him out if he didn't learn to cook better.

"Peru." Logan answered, as if it was all the information Victor would need. It was. Victor remembered Peru very well. There was an awkward quiet in the room after that. Lost in their thoughts, Logan relieved what he had just experienced for a second time a few minutes ago; the horror, the sickness, the sheer revulsion. Victor relieved what he had not thought about for a very long time; the frustration, the anger, the grief. All directed towards the little brother who he could never protect.

"I went back there, a few years ago." Victor said mildly, "They caught the guys who did that. Punished them. They're all dead now."

Logan nodded, but then asked suspiciously. "What were _you_ doin' in Peru?" The thought that Victor would go anywhere for sightseeing was a laughable idea, it was therefore, much more likely that his actions were less than innocent.

Victor hesitated. "I…" He stopped for a second, he didn't want to lie to his brother but he wasn't sure how he'd take the truth. "I was doin' some work. Thought I'd check it out while I was there. Just out of interest, ya know?"

Logan scowled. What kind of work could Victor have been doing in South America? It screamed of military. "You still working for the government?" Logan growled accusingly.

Victor quickly shook his head and held up his hands to prove his innocence.

"No. After Stryker, I swore I'd never work for those dogs again."

Logan glared at him, as if a mean look would intimidate the truth out of the other mutant. It might have worked on one of his students at the late Xavier manor, but not here. Victor met his gaze evenly, with ease. He knew Logan better than he knew himself. You didn't look after some one for over a hundred years and not know when they were serious and when they were bluffing. Logan was bluffing. He wouldn't hurt Victor; hell he wouldn't even attack him. Whatever usually got Logan so worked up wasn't here now—or at least wasn't affecting him now. Actually, at a more thorough look at his little brother, Victor saw that he looked tired. No wonder there wasn't any fight in him. He wondered how much stress Logan's brain injuries put on his body in its attempt to heal them?

"I think you'd better tell me what you've been doing for these last twenty years." Logan said eventually. Victor nodded in response. It _was_ high time he answered some of his brother's questions.

"I'll tell you outside; it smells like crap in here."

Victor stood up and walked outside. Logan heard the door bang before he got up himself and followed his brother outside. His scorched breakfast was left on the table, untouched.

---

**Well I hope you enjoyed this. I'm not altogether sure if I made some of Team X (ie. Wade) a tad OOC, it's been so long since I saw the movie that I can't quite remember. Oh well, review and tell me what you think. I won't be updating the next chapter for a while. I'll try to post again in about three weeks, but it might be a bit longer than that. Then again, it could be shorter, who knows?**


	7. Chapter 7

**So, here I am and I made it on time! Actually, I managed to finish it before I thought I would. This is a very long chapter, the longest one so far in this story. I'm quite proud of this actually, especially after the last chapter, which I really wasn't happy with at all.**

**Anyway, I just want to say thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, alerted or added this story as a favourite so far. I love you guys!**

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He was running and he was angry.

Angry, being the understatement of the century. He was fuming, furious, absolutely enraged. The beast inside of him roared and spit, mirroring his riled mood. The creature rattled at its bars and demanded to take over. Any other time he would have granted that exit, he would have relished the chance to escape from the reality that was so cruel and pitiless towards him. But not now. Now, he was too angry to even take advantage of the escape that presented itself to him.

The feral mutant growled and lashed out at a nearby tree, using his deadly weapons to completely decimate it. But it wasn't enough, this pain; this fury would not be quelled with a sacrifice from one measly plant. A forest would tame it; a blood sacrifice would diminish it. And he knew who would be perfect for that sacrifice; his damn treacherous brother, that was who.

Upon realising the absence of his 'blood sacrifice', he let out a roar and attacked more plants. Soon, he'd have enough lumber to build a log cabin—a parody of what he and his brother made.

Damn it.

Anger, drowned for the moment by the intense tiredness of hurt and pain, dissipated and left him powerless to do anything but sink to his knees and look down at his hands and chest. His knuckles were red and raw, his arms littered with wooden splinters. His chest, his shirt and trousers were wet with a deep red liquid that his nose, if maybe not his mind, immediately recognised as blood. But then, of course it _would_ be blood, wouldn't it? Everything came back to blood; started with it, ended with it. He didn't know if it was his or his brother's. Hell, it could have been someone else's for all he knew. He shook his head and released a huge sigh. It wasn't supposed to be like this. James Howlett and Victor Creed. They were supposed to be brothers, to be a team. To hell with all the times they had hurt each other, forget all the things they did to one and other to get ahead.

They were brothers.

It was simple. They were never meant to age and whither. Just like the sun, or the moon, or war; they were constant, unending, eternal. But what now? He wasn't so vain to call himself a god… although it did raise the question as to what he actually was. Neither mythical creature nor mutant. Not like all the others anyway; they could die, from pain or fear or age. But he did not age, and he did not feel fear. And from pain? He was in the most pain he had ever been in. His nerves had burned out and his soul had been tarnished with the suffering. But he was still breathing, panting, living. Fifty years ago, he'd have never said that having longevity mixed with invincibility was a curse, but hell, he sure doubted it now.

Over the deep African rainforest, the skies darkened and rumbled. They spewed the sound of giant marbles being ground in a fist in the form of thunder. Lightning followed a moment after and illuminated the pioneers of the many water droplets that would fall that night.

Neither Victor nor Logan were animals. But being told as much for so many years, they sometimes began to believe it and act accordingly. In the deep African rainforest, Victor Creed threw back his head and expressed everything in the howl of a wounded animal.

--

"So after I left, you just went back with Stryker then, yeah?" Logan asked in his gruff voice, making Victor's eyes flicker up to meet his brothers. He thought about his time in the rainforest after Logan left—abandoned him in—Africa. The pain had twisted him, made hate everything and lash out at anything. He would have gone as far as to say that he was seriously imbalanced in the days after Logan went AWOL. He knew that he promised to tell his brother everything, but there were some things that he was definitely not going to reveal. So instead, he nodded and sat back against the tree he was propped up on.

"Pretty much. I stayed with Stryker until the Three Mile Island blew sky high. You know what I was doin' durin' that time, don't cha? I don't have to go into it, do I?"

Logan grimaced and shook his head. He remembered Three Mile Island enough to draw upon the vivid images of the young mutants that he and Kayla saved from captivity. "I remember." He said simply, scratching the stubble on his neck.

Victor remembered too.

--

Victor was once again running when he heard the shots being fired from somewhere behind. Shots, not from a rifle or a machine gun, but from a revolver. A revolver that he knew had six adamantium bullets resting in its barrel. Only they weren't in their barrel anymore. Whether they were lodged in cement or inside his brother was another matter. Though instinctively, Victor knew that they had found their target. He stopped running and turned towards the sound.

A small body of water separated the Three Mile Island from the world and Victor stood on the mainland, on the elevated ground. He looked down on it, barely able to see the island through the trees. He couldn't see Jimmy, and he couldn't see Stryker. On the opposite side, he witnessed the young mutants who he had helped capture, escape with some old bald guy in a fancy looking helicopter. But that meant nothing to him. Instead his eyes desperately searched for the glint of adamantium, which would be seen long after his brother's image faded from sight.

Victor's jaw tightened. He waited three minutes, but there was nothing, no movement, no animalistic roar from his little brother. There _was_ a vague sound coming from behind him, but Victor recognised it as a siren—not something he had ever come to welcome. Back down on the island, the plane he knew Jimmy had come in on revved its engine and took off. Victor growled with relief.

"Jimmy you ass," He muttered as he began to climb a tree, getting a better look at his brother's escape. "Makin' me worry fer nothin'."

But the plane went by and Victor's tense jaw tightened further. The mutant from New Orleans was flying, his eyes dancing gleefully at his freedom. Jimmy wasn't there.

"No!" Victor snarled through gritted teeth. "Damnit Jimmy, don't you dare be dead on me. If yer dead I'll…"

The threat was left unfinished. There was nothing to say, and no one to hear it being said. "No…" Victor whispered into the wind, his words carried away by the breeze. No one would know. Thank God. With Jimmy gone, he was on his own. He couldn't afford to lose face now. Perhaps if he waited for five more minutes, just in case he could catch a whiff or glimpse of Jimmy. There was nothing, he knew there would be, but he wasn't ready to go. The sirens were louder now. Time had passed—more than five minutes—that was for sure. He hadn't realised he had let it go. His eyes stared at a distant point, not the island, not the sky, but at his memories.

"Dammit Jimmy, no one's allowed to touch you but me. I swear to God, I'm gonna gut Stryker, I'm gonna make 'im pay. He'll beg me to kill 'im by the time I'm finished."

There were shouts now. People were coming up the mountain, searching for someone—maybe Stryker, but he hadn't come this way; his scent was non-existent.

"Hey there's footprints over here!" Someone shouted, not altogether far away from him.

"Would ya' gimme a moment ya assholes?" He ground out, pain making his voice achieve strange harmonics.

Victor shook his head and looked up to the sky. They'd be here soon. They'd see him and there'd be blood. Jimmy would have run, he'd leave and protect the people from the fate they'd never see coming. But he sure as hell wasn't Jimmy. He wouldn't run like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs; he was a predator. It all came back to blood, so what if it wasn't his, who cared? Nothing was eternal; those men would die anyway right?

Victor closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Inside, he felt wounded. He could feel the invisible claws rip through his chest and down to his stomach. Hell, he should just kill them and get it over with.

It ain't right, Victor…

Victor froze for a moment and almost fell out of the tree, trying to look behind him. He had heard that hadn't he? That was Jimmy's voice. Where was he? But his little brother wasn't there; it was only his voice playing on rewind in the back of his head.

Don't do it, it ain't right…

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" He snarled, lashing out at the tree in his confusion and pain, causing a deep crunching sound to attract the attention of his unwitting pursuers.

"Hey Bill, you hear that?" The sound was nearer now, but softer.

"Yeah, I hear it." Another man said, his voice tense and serious, "Get your gun out, someone's here."

Victor watched as the two men passed by him, his eyes followed as they edged forward underneath the branch he was perched upon. One was young, mid-twenties, maybe. He was green. The feral mutant could see the sweat dripping down his collar and his eyes darting everywhere at once. The other was older, more experienced and less visibly scared. He carried his weapon expertly, but his hair was greying and he had a belly on him. They were both wearing local sheriff's uniforms, but that wouldn't protect them. They wouldn't stand a chance. Victor's claws lengthened, digging more and more into the delicate wood underneath. All he'd have to do was jumped down and catch them in the jugular—quick, easy, painless. His muscles tensed and grew taut, and just as he was about to descend, the rookie sheriff turned and looked up.

"Holy crap!" The man cried out, raising his gun and stumbling backwards. The other was calmer, but still surprised.

"Get down here right now, you're under arrest." He commanded Victor. He sounded in control, but sensitive ears could pick up the frantic beat of the old man's defected heart.

Victor gave him a bored look and didn't move. It would still be so easy to kill them; he might as well do it now… But something stopped him.

It ain't right…

Damn, if Jimmy wasn't more trouble dead than alive. Still, his stomach lurched at the voice in his head. He closed his eyes in pain, almost sure he could feel his little brother's presence behind him, his brown eyes darkened with melancholy thoughts, and shaking his head. Jimmy hated involving civilians in anything—always had. He fought his nature harder than Victor and had lived better for it. But then, he had lived shorter too, hadn't he? The indestructible Weapon X, destroyed with six clicks of a trigger. Why? Because he was too weak, too human. He ran away and never fought, he cowered from the world and isolated himself from the reality that was their lives. Yet, in the end, he _had_ fought, hadn't he? For her. Kayla Silverfox, the mutant that played him for the fool he was. He had fought for her.

And now, he was dead.

Another body on the battlefield. Everything he was, all the knowledge he had attained, the feelings he had experienced—lost.

"Did you hear me?" The sheriff shouted up at him, "Get down right now!"

Victor let out a long weary sigh. He shouldered his pain as if it had been a burden he'd held for longer. With little effort he hopped down onto the ground, descending from the great height without a sweat. The two enforcers of the law stumbled back, expecting someone to break their legs, jumping from such a height. But as Victor straightened up, he showed no signs of physical pain. He stood motionlessly for a while. His claws were no longer dangerously elongated. His fight had diminished.

The older man moved first, reaching behind him to get the handcuffs that were attached to his belt, he kept his gun trained on Victor. The younger sheriff's gun wavered in his hands. He was shaking. This was his first month on the job, but Victor didn't know that.

"Put these on." The older man ordered.

Victor looked at the cuffs distastefully. He snorted. "Not a chance." He scoffed before using his enhanced speed to punch the more experienced sheriff in the face and turning towards the rookie.

"Stop, I'll shoot!" His voice wavered as much as his gun. He stepped back and Victor followed.

"Sure ya will." He snorted before grabbing the man by the neck and throwing him off to the side. The kid hit his head off of a tree and was dazed. The older sheriff was on the brink of unconsciousness, groaning and holding his head as he rolled around on the muddy ground. Victor surveyed the situation. Now more than ever, it would be so easy to kill them. He was a predator, a fighter. He didn't run, only dogs and Jimmy ever ran. He was strong, a survivor. It was his right to kill these men. And yet…

Victor shook his head, turned on his heel and walked away from the scene. Only Jimmy ran. Victor would take his time.

--

"What the hell is with you?" Logan's voice broke through his memory. Victor's brows bunched together with agitation.

"Nothin', just thinkin'."

"Well, stop thinkin' and start talkin'. You take any longer and we'll die of old age before yer finished."

If it were any other time, Victor would have reached over and cuffed his brother's ear. Instead, to retain the fragile relationship between them, Victor crossed his arms and pinned his hands under them. He bit the side of his tongue for a brief moment; sure that any response that would come out of his mouth at that moment couldn't be beneficial to their uneasy truce. Instead, he decided to ignore the comment and continue divulging the information of his mysterious past.

"I thought you were dead. I was so sure Stryker had killed you. There was nothin' left fer me to do after the Three Mile Island. So I hunted him, tried to find him, kill him. I promised I would, ya know?" He stopped and licked his lips. "I never did though. The asshole hid himself too well, covered his tracks like a professional. So I wandered. I had no leads to Stryker, couldn't face goin' back to the cabin. I ended up in Mexico eventually. Drank myself silly, worked in whatever job was goin' and camped out in the desert. It wasn't what I wanted, but nothin' seemed to matter anymore."

"What changed? Yer not there now. Did Magneto find you while you were there?"

Victor shook his head. "I would've stayed there forever. But someone approached me. A mutant."

"Anyone I know?"

Victor shrugged. "Beats me." He said, somehow unwilling to divulge much information. But he couldn't help himself as he muttered, "She was a real looker though."

--

The bar smelt disgusting. But after enough alcohol, even Victor's nose couldn't distinguish the smell of drink from that of urine. It was a miserable place, no door in the doorway, no glass on the windows. But Victor didn't care.

"Yo, barman, gimme another round. That last one wasn't worth crap." Victor growled obtusely, his voice muffled from the material of his coat where his forehead rested in the crook of his elbow. The barman gave him a pointed look and spoke rapidly in Spanish. Victor shook his head, not lifting it from his arm. "Drink!" He ordered, bashing the empty glass on the counter three times. The loud noise made some of the other patrons turn their heads and mutter quietly among themselves. They wouldn't attract attention to themselves by voicing their opinions to the foreign man, they had seen what had happened the last time someone attempted it.

"Mister, you've had a lot to drink. Perhaps you should take a break."

Victor's head inched up just enough so that his eyes could meet with the bartender's. "Drink." He repeated and held up the glass that had only the smallest drop of whiskey left in it.

The barman rolled his eyes and took the glass from Victor's hands. He dropped it on the counter with a clunk and grabbed a half-filled bottle of whiskey from behind him. With a bored stare he filled a normal measure into the glass. Victor glared at him and indicated with his fingers to keep going. The barman complied unhappily, he wasn't told to stop until the glass was almost overflowing.

Victor nodded. "Good, 'bout time you poured a proper amount."

The barman threw up his hands and said something in Spanish in an exasperated voice.

"Yeah, yeah." Victor muttered before carefully bringing the shot glass to his lips and swigging back the whole thing in a massive gulp.

He smacked his lips and then repeated his order.

"I think, perhaps, you shouldn't drink anymore." A female voice behind Victor said.

Victor shuffled in his chair and glanced over his shoulder. "What's a frail like you doin' here with yer nose in someone else's business?"

The 'frail' put her hands on her hips and smirked. "I came looking for you." She told him.

Victor tensed. "Oh yeah, and why are you lookin' fer me?" His voice was light, but he was on full alert. He knew the woman wasn't armed, but that didn't mean she wasn't dangerous; she smelled like a mutant.

"I have a business proposition." She told him.

Victor looked decidedly disinterested as he gave her a quick up and down glance. She was very beautiful, this mutant. She was wearing a short summer dress with floral patterns that showed off her long, perfectly shaped legs. Her hair was black and fell in soft curls and waves around her face and down her shoulders. He couldn't see her eyes; she had hid them behind odd-looking red sunglasses that seemed to reflect the light uncomfortably. He huffed.

"I ain't interested." He told her before turning around and loudly ordering more alcohol.

The woman didn't get the hint. She just shook her head and sat down on the stool next to him. Her fingers tapped the wooden counter absent-mindedly.

"I'm a mutant." She told him in a soft voice.

Victor snorted, as if that had anything to do with anything. "Good fer you." He replied.

"You knew?" She asked with one brow very slightly raised.

Victor nodded. "Could smell you a mile away. Wanna be careful with that, I ain't the only one who knows a mutant when he sees one."

The woman smiled. "Thanks, but I can look after myself." She said confidently.

"I'm sure." He said.

Despite him being difficult, the woman remained pleasant. "My name's Sage." She informed him.

"Didn't really ask, but whatever." He shrugged.

Sage looked at Victor and bit her lower lip slightly as she thought. "You know," She announced after some consideration, "I won't go away just because you're being difficult. I have a proposition for you, all I'm asking you to do is listen."

Victor brought his hand up to his face and rubbed his forehead. "Fine. Whatever." He told her.

"This is sensitive information that I'm about to divulge. Is there anywhere we could go that's private? What about your hotel room?" She asked, looking pleased.

"Lady, I sleep outside in the dessert. I ain't got no hotel room."

"That's alright, I can rent one for the hour then."

Victor thought about it for a second and then dismissed the idea. "Aw hell. Listen, this is becomin' too much trouble. Forget it, I ain't movin'."

"I really must insist that you listen to what I have to say, Mr. Creed." She said sternly.

Victor sighed. The game was over, he was sick of this broad. "Okay, look here lady, it's been fun, it has, but you gotta' leave now. If you don't, I'm gonna' have to gut you like a fish, d'you hear?"

Sage looked unimpressed by the threat but stood up nonetheless. "Fine." She said curtly, taking off her glasses to glare at the other mutant. "Waste away in this hellhole. It's just a shame _you_ survived and not your brother."

Victor snarled and shot up from his stool, sending it crashing to the ground. He lunged forward and grabbed the woman by the neck, pushing her up against the counted. He looked like he was about to start shouting at her, but he didn't. Instead, he went suspiciously quiet. Through narrowed eyes he studied her.

"I know why you cover them up." He said, surprisingly without anger in his voice. He brought a clawed finger up to his own eyes and tapped his cheekbone, to indicate what he meant. "You with the army?" He asked rather more curiously than threateningly, letting go of the woman's neck.

Sage rubbed her throat and glared darkly at him from her brown eyes. "No, not the army." She said, bending down to pick up the glasses she had dropped and putting them back on.

Victor watched her. He knew she wasn't lying to him, he could sense a lie like he could smell the sweat coming from the barman's pores. He thought for a moment. "Yer a mercenary?" He asked as it came into his head.

Sage didn't answer and after a moment Victor grinned, knowing he was right. "Thought as much," He said, "Saw those eyes of yers and I knew you were a killer."

"I do what I must to survive." She told him. "I don't regret what I've done in the past and I don't regret what I'm doing now. Tell me, Mr. Creed, do you regret any of your actions?"

Victor crossed his arms and scoffed. "Not a damn thing." He lied, pushing the thoughts of leaving Jimmy alone on the Three Mile Island to fend for himself to the very back of his mind.

She smiled sadly, as if she had heard his thoughts. "Honour his memory, Victor, don't degenerate to a lump of breathing flesh, your brother wouldn't want that. Listen to my proposition."

Victor didn't look impressed. "Honour him? Lady, I don't know who the hell you are, but you don't know squat. My brother hated war, and I have a feelin' yer not tryin' to get me to join Amnesty International."

Sage smiled slightly. "No, not Amnesty." She agreed, crossing her own arms and jutting out her hip. "But that's not to say we don't help people."

"I ain't interested." Victor repeated.

Sage's face darkened. "No. You're only interested in killing things, aren't you? That's why Stryker hired you, that's why you dragged you brother through every war since the end of the eighteenth century."

"Now listen here, frail," Victor warned, stepping closer and pointing his finger at Sage threateningly, "Yer crossin' a boundry here that there ain't no goin' back from. It's been fun so far, but don't push yer luck…. How'd you know about that anyway?" He asked suspiciously, his mind going through all the possible reasons.

"I already told you, Mr. Creed; I'm a mutant."

"Yer one of them mind readers?" He asked, trying to hide the horror he felt at the notion.

Sage hesitated. "I _can_ catch glimpses of what's in a person's mind, yes. But I wouldn't worry; it can only be activated by skin on skin contact. Besides, telepathy is not my main ability."

"Oh, and what is yer main ability then?"

Sage shrugged. "Actually, there's a few. But to answer your question, I knew about you and your brother because I researched it. I have a mind like a computer. I can analyse and draw upon information with a greater accuracy than any supercomputer. In truth, we saw you with Stryker a few years back and the boss asked me to gain information on you. That's how I knew about you and James."

"And who's your boss?"

Sage lips turned slightly upwards in a faint smile. "I can't tell you that. Like I said, the information is extremely delicate; it wouldn't do for our enemies to get their hands on it. The only way I can tell you is if you've agreed to work with us." Sage paused and licked her lips, "So, what do you say? Hear me out?"

Victor studied Sage and then turned his head to look at the empty whiskey glass on the counter. He glanced around the room, noticing that everyone was doing their utmost to ignore him and the woman. They were all so scared of him; they had just sat there and watched while he strangled a seemingly defenceless woman. He turned back to Sage. She had taken her glasses off again and was looking at him with curious, expectant eyes.

Victor was a great appreciator of women. They were interesting, unpredictable. They added a little spice to an otherwise unsurprising world. Sage was no exception—even more so, for being a mutant, for being a mercenary, for being a killer. It was a welcome change to have someone look him in the eyes and not cower like a child. Besides, this place was boring.

And there wasn't enough alcohol to keep him entertained. Victor rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Alright," He said with a sigh, "Ya got twenty minutes to convince me." He told her before walking past her and out of the establishment.

Sage smirked, put her glasses back on and followed him outside. "I'll do it in ten."

--

"They were a group of mutant mercenaries, called themselves GENESIS. Kinda like what we had goin' on with Stryker, only some colonel with an anti-mutant policy didn't run it. 'Course, it wasn't condoned by the government either—that was a big plus. It was quite a big group, considerin' I was told it was small. There were about sixteen members, not includin' the boss, that is."

Logan frowned. "And who was the boss?" He wondered if it was someone he had had a run in with. It wasn't all that hard to believe, since he knew he had annoyed more than his fair share of mutants with powerful organisations on their sides.

"Janos Vargha. Some Hungarian baron or somethin'. The X gene ran through the family apparently, every generation were mutants. So, you heard of him?"

Logan shook his head. "Nah, could've sworn I clashed heads with every secret mutant organisation in this world."

Victor snorted. "You've just dealt with the small fish, Jimmy. This is the big league, little brother."

Logan raised his brow and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't comment on it though. "And what did you do with the _big league_?"

Victor shrugged. "This and that." He said, "Rescued a few mutants. Liberated a few oppressed countries. Killed some people, stole some top-secret information. You know, the usual kind of stuff a guy does in a mercenary group. It could've been anythin' really; Janos Vargha chose all the missions personally, he'd call us to meet once a month and tell his what we were doin'. We worked in pairs mostly, so most of the stuff I did was information retrieval. My partner was the mutant that recruited me. Called herself Sage, by the way. She had this amazin' head for information. Licked it up like a bear with honey—swear to god."

Logan's lips quirked into a gruff, knowing smirk. "You liked her." He said, recognising the subtle tone of admiration in his tone.

Victor didn't deny it. "She _was_ a fox." He told him.

"You liked more than just her body. You admired her." Logan mused aloud.

Victor twitched his head, but again, he didn't deny it. "She was classy. Not like those other butch soldiers that have more testosterone than you and me put together. Really intelligent too, and she could take care of herself. What's not to like?"

Logan smiled and shook his head. "Never thought I'd see the day…" He muttered, "Did you ever go out with her?" He asked, truly interested. He had never imagined Victor in a relationship with a woman. Sure, he knew that there had been girls through the years, but none that he had actually given a damn about.

Victor slowly nodded. "A few times."

Logan was quiet for a minute, realising that there was a certain amount of delicacy that would have to be employed in this scenario. "Did you…love her?" He asked eventually.

Victor turned his head and gazed intensely at a wholly uninteresting blade of grass. He tried to hide the emotion in his eyes that his brother would undoubtedly pick up on. When he faced Logan again, he had covered the feelings expertly.

"Nah," He denied, "Don't be an idiot. She was just some broad."

Victor suddenly pushed himself to his feet and began to pace back and forward. "So do you want to hear the rest of my story, or are you just goin' to sit there wastin' both of our time?"

Logan shook his head. "No," He said, holding out his hands, "Go on." But as he watched his brother's agitated moves, he knew that he _had_ loved that woman and he wondered mildly why Victor would lie about it.

Even as Victor continued on with his story, his own thoughts were half preoccupied with the memories of his time with Sage. He could almost see her sitting in GENESIS Headquarters, sipping the weak coffee with the single spoonful of sugar.

--

"You're late." Sage announced to the approaching figure of Victor. She hadn't looked up from her magazine, though at the speed she was flicking through it, she didn't seem to be reading it. Victor watched silently as she forfeited the position of the hand holding her head up to get the mug of coffee that was on the glass table beside her. Without moving her eyes from her magazine, she blew on the liquid to cool it down and took a sip, scrunching her face up as she burnt her lip. She returned the mug to the table with an expression of genuine agitation. Finally, Sage looked up and made eye contact with Victor.

"Sorry," Victor apologised with a shrug, "Left somethin' back at the apartment."

Sage's features turned into a frown as she went through a mental list. "Everything you need for the mission is already here, Victor."

"It ain't fer the mission." He said without shame. However, seeing the darkening mood of his teammate he decided to elaborate. "It's fer you."

He reached into the deep pocket of his coat and took out a small wrapped parcel, putting it onto the glass table before sitting down on the leather chair opposite her. Sage looked at the parcel with confusion and just a slight amount of mistrust. Slowly, she pushed the magazine to the side and an elegant hand reached over and pulled the gift towards her. She opened the packaging carefully, not ripping any of the paper and taking great care in untying the yellow silk bow on the front. Underneath the wrapping paper was a rectangular box, just slightly bigger than her hand. She took the lid off and stared at the contents.

"What is this?" She asked, her voice was a little harsher than you'd expect to hear from someone who had just received a present.

"It's to say sorry, ya know, fer ruinin' yer own necklace on the last mission. I got it made up fer you, by a jeweller near my place. I know it's not exactly the same but it's close enough right?"

Sage's fingers went over the necklace in the box. It was practically the mirror image of the one Victor had broke. It had been her mother's necklace, made in the small village she had come from; the only solid thing she had left of her family. It was the reason she was so annoyed with him. The reason she had '_forgot'_ to tell him they had a meeting today until only an hour ago. It had been an accident, him breaking her necklace, but she had freaked so he wasn't going to call her on it.

Victor studied her face. There was a strange look on it, like she was trying not to find anything good in what he had done. Yet her lips tugged slightly upwards as she pulled the golden piece of jewellery out of the box and watched it dangle from between her fingers. She watched as the light caught it and it sparkled. Victor watched it too. He was careful not to look too pleased with himself so that when she looked up and saw him, she wouldn't become angry again. Eventually, she lowered the necklace back into the box and looked at the other mutant.

"Your local jeweller made this?" She asked, her eyes searching his face in confusion, looking for something that gave away proof he had lied. She didn't find it.

He nodded.

Sage shook her head, making her dark hair flick over and back off her shoulders. "How did you get him to make it so similar? I can hardly tell the difference."

Victor shrugged. "I can be very persuasive." He told her nonchalantly.

It meant a lot to her. It really, really did. Sage didn't know how he had managed to get an almost exact replica of her beloved necklace. "It's just as well I suppose." She murmured, her eyes returning to the box. "Well, aren't you going to help me put it on?" It sounded like a rough demand, but Victor knew she was pleased. He nodded and stood up, picking the delicate chain up with his powerful claws and opened the clasp. He walked behind her and put it around her neck. He stepped back and admired the way it lay over her black top.

"Thank you, Victor." She said with a small, sincere smile, "I really… just, thanks."

Victor nodded and crossed his arms. "I ain't a complete savage, am I?" He smirked.

Sage scoffed and stood up. "I wouldn't go that far." She informed him as she walked by, giving him a mischievous look as she did. "Come on then, we're late for the meeting."

Victor stalked after her—a predator following another.

--

"I spent 'bout six years with GENESIS. It was a good place, good people. But it was time to move on. You know I ain't the settlin' type."

Logan nodded; after spending a hundred and sixty years with his brother, he really _did_ know that Victor was not the settling type. "How'd they take it?"

Victor shrugged. "Vargha was sad to see me go. Said I was an asset to the group. He seemed to understand though; he was an empath, ya know, he could sense me being restless. The others didn't really care, I was the new guy—even after six years—they barely knew me."

Logan nodded. Victor really wasn't the bonding type either. This new information was really no surprise.

"What about your partner? Did you tell her? Did she not care?"

Victor gave his brother a pointed look. "I told her, she cried, I left. Simple as that."

The younger brother's eyebrow rose high. "You just left her? Just like that?"

Victor rolled his eyes. "I told ya, Jimmy, she was just some broad. She didn't mean nothin' to me."

Logan nodded distractedly. Maybe he really had been wrong about his brother's feelings for the woman? But Logan hadn't been wrong; his instincts were usually right. Now was one of those times.

Victor frowned, remembering how it had really happened.

--

It was the middle of the night. Well, more like the start of the morning. Looking to the clock on the wall of his apartment, Victor saw that it was almost four a.m. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the dull sting beneath his lids. He was tired. It wasn't a surprise really; he'd only returned from his mission. Six hours ago, his plane had landed on American soil. After getting debriefed, he had wandered back home and fell into bed. Victor glanced over his shoulder to the door of his bedroom, noticing how it was slightly ajar. Sage was in there, sleeping off the exhausting mission. It had been more tiring for her; she was the one that had to use her mutant ability to complete her duty. For Victor it had been child's play.

Turning back around to what he was doing, a fully dressed Victor reached down and picked up the black duffel bag from the ground. Inside of it, some of his clothes had been thrown in; other things like a toothbrush and a mobile phone had made their way in as well, but he hadn't put them there. Roughly he zipped it up and slung it over his shoulder.

It was time to go.

He put his hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a quick note he had written earlier. He put the yellow post-it onto the table and put the keys to his apartment on top of it. Written upon the paper were two words; "For you.". It was the only thing he'd leave. The apartment was now hers—Sage's—he wouldn't be coming back.

He walked towards the front door, reaching to unlock it.

"You're leaving." Sage's voice, full of resignation, sadness, acceptance, announced from the bedroom doorway.

Victor stiffened and turned around to face her. She had clearly been sleeping; her hair was tousled and her eyes were just a tiny bit bloodshot. She was wearing one of his tee shirts and what looked like basketball shorts that went down to her knees. Her arms were crossed and she was leaning against the doorframe. Her expression wasn't blank but a cautious neutral.

"And you're not coming back." She continued, knowing as well as he did.

Victor lowered his eyes, feeling the rare emotion of guilt. "You wouldn't understand." He told her with a very slight note of sadness in his voice.

"I understand." She said with a brief, business-like nod.

Victor looked to her in surprise. "I gotta go." Victor shrugged.

"I know."

"This is fer the best."

Sage's eyes flickered up and gazed at Victor with eyes that glistened with hurt and unshed tears. "How?" She asked. Her voice was just on the edge of breaking.

"You'd hate me." He told her simply.

"What?" Sage asked, suddenly angry. It was the only emotion she could grasp onto without fear of feeling embarrassment later.

Victor elaborated. "This can't work. Think about it, Sage. Even if nothin' happens, even if this works out, what d'you think will happen in thirty years time? Forty years time? You'll age, you'll grey, you'll fade and die. I'll be as young as I am now, immune to everythin' in this damn world. You'll be on yer death bed and you'll realise you hate me and you just wasted your life with someone you couldn't experience it with."

Sage was quiet. Her lips were pursed and her eyes had hardened once again. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and using the time it provided to compose herself. She swallowed and nodded. "I'm going back to bed, Victor." She said slowly, "If you're going to come back, I'll see you in a second. If not…" She gave him a sad, but accepting smile. "Goodbye."

She turned and slowly walked back into the bedroom. Victor didn't move until he heard the creaking of the springs as she climbed back into the bed and curled up under the covers.

"Goodbye." Victor muttered. He turned on his heel and left the house.

He did it for her, all for her.

--

"I just went back to the cabin fer a few years after that. I fixed it up, bought a fridge and a cooker. Doubt _you_ noticed though, you ungrateful ass."

Logan huffed in amusement. "Can't say I did."

Victor looked mildly offended but didn't hold the façade for long. He finally sat back down by the tree he had been at before hand. He picked up a small pebble from the ground and rolled it around his hands.

"I got bored waitin' around here fer nothin' though, so I went down south again, caught a few adds in the papers and got a job as a truck driver—"

Victor was interrupted by Logan's barking laughter. "You?" He gasped through laughs, "A truck driver?"

"Yeah, yeah," Victor growled, "Laugh it up. But you weren't exactly livin' the most high-flyin life either ya know."

"Better than drivin a truck." He retorted.

"Oh yeah," Victor replied, "Because cage fightin' is _so_ glamerous."

Logan's laughter died down, the humour left his features. "How'd you know about that?" He questioned.

"On one of my runs, I stopped off in this godforsaken joint off one of the major roads. You had just come out of a fight. I thought it was my imagination, since I thought you were dead. But I followed anyway. Still, by the time I got outside, you had gone. I asked around for a guy called James Howlett but no one had ever heard of him. Thought I'd just made it up. So I left."

"Started free lancin' fer a while. Doin' odd jobs here and there. Spent another few years goin' around doin' that. Didn't pay much attention to my life really, kinda just wandered again. Then Magneto hired me and you know how that turned out."

Logan nodded. "Why didn't you come and find me after Liberty? I mean at that stage you knew I was alive. Didn't you think I might've appreciated knowin'?"

"Guess it never occurred to me" Victor said with a shrug.

Logan let out a frustrated growl. After everything he went through, Victor had been there and it had never occurred to him to release him from the pain of not knowing? He had lost hope, given into despair when all it would've taken was a quick visit to Xavier's mansion, a short explanation. Logan silently fumed over the lack of interest his brother had taken in him while Victor thought about what had actually happened.

--

It was on the edge of the Xavier manor.

He watched the kids go in and out, punching in the code that would allow them safe passage through the protective wall and security system. Otherwise, they'd be blasted to young, fashionable pulps in the face of such a high tech system. Victor didn't fancy healing from a multitude of wounds, which was the reason why he was sitting in a tree, overlooking the gate. He had long since memorised the numbers, now he was just waiting for it to be dark so he could sneak in undetected. Jimmy was in there; he knew the scent of his little brother. Though he doubted the other mutant would be able to smell him. One of the things he had taken away from GENESIS was a bottle of cologne that masked his smell. It had been a novelty invention by one of the mutants there; a joke that they had all laughed at. A joke that Victor had beaten the crap out of him for. Who'd have thought it would actually work? Victor shook his head with a grin, he already knew it had, he'd seen Jimmy pass by him, barely a hundred metres away with a group of kids. He hadn't suspected a thing. Good. Victor didn't need to get himself in a mess.

He didn't have long to wait now.

The sun was already going down and twilight was falling softly onto the grounds of the manor. The kids that were going in were probably getting in before curfew. It didn't surprise him that the curfew would be so early. Now was a dangerous time for mutants. There was a lot of hate towards them after what had happened with Magneto on Liberty Island. Frankly, Victor didn't give a damn that he had caused this trouble for the rest of his race, as far as he was concerned, it hadn't been him, it was Sabertooth. He'd had no control over it. And so what if people hated mutants? It had happened before and would again, probably.

No, Victor had a guiltless conscience. Only guiltless in regards to the current war. If he was truly completely without guilt then he wouldn't be sitting in a tree, spying on a brother that didn't realise he was a brother. If the whole Magneto incident had reaped any benefits, it was finding that Jimmy was alive. He hadn't believed it at first. It seemed impossible, as impossible as the day Victor thought he'd seen his little brother in the cage fights. But after their scuffle, Victor had taken the evidence, the dog tags back and from then he had physical proof that he wasn't just crazy. His beast had recognised kin, but instead of rejoicing, the damn thing had harboured all those dark feelings his human side had done away with. More than that, the instinctual competition within it had made him attack.

That was over now though, his beast was kept under a tight leash. Victor would never have thought he'd be like Jimmy one day; keeping check of his beast all the time. But times were different and he was older now. He could admit the defeat for what it was. He wouldn't have, if Sage or Jimmy was with him, but he was alone and that awarded him with the ability to act honestly. Victor waited silently until he knew the time was right.

Looking to the moon, he could see just how late it was. It seemed to be after midnight. He wasn't sure if Jimmy would be asleep or not, but that didn't matter. What was important was that the other mutants were. He didn't want a welcome committee. He'd also have to work extra hard to keep his brain waves on minimum so that the two physics in the manor would not be alerted to his presence. This wasn't going to be easy, but then, he could do with a challenge. Magneto had wanted him as brute force, not as muscle with a mind behind it. Victor shook his head as he jumped down off of the tree. Some good that had done.

Briskly, he sauntered over to the keypad by the gate. He punched in the numbers and listened with a satisfied grin as the system unlocked. From listening to Magneto all that time ago, he remembered the old man saying that even after it was unlocked, during the night, it would only stay that way for a half a minute. Just enough time for a friend to slip by and an enemy to not realise the ploy. Keeping that in mine, Victor skipped past the security perimeters and trotted up the main drive of the manor. He'd been watching the system for days, he knew most of the trigger points, the times of blindness, he'd even figured out the whereabouts of the sound sensors on the lawn. It was some system. One that would make any self-respecting evil genius green with envy.

Still, only a few minutes later, Victor had reached the manor, scaled the walls and gotten onto a balcony. There, he could see the sleeping form of his little brother, completely conked out and drooling through the glass door. Victor's lips twitched in amusement.

He hadn't seen Jimmy like that since he was a goofy kid in his false father's plantation house all those years ago. Without warning, the light humour he had been feeling gave way to a more melancholy one. He frowned.

He knew that Jimmy had lost his memory. He had come tonight to fix that problem. But seeing him, so happy with those annoying kids earlier and now, in a deep sleep without nightmares…

It was how it should have been.

Victor sat down on the balcony floor and watched as Jimmy shuffled in his sleep and turn his back to the balcony. He was happy here, surely. Not afraid of the people he had killed, the lives he had ruined. And now there was nothing left to do.

Despite his vow to take revenge on Stryker, it had been Jimmy who'd done it. Victor had been there too. After Liberty Island, Stryker had come out of hiding and had gone back to his mutant hating ways. Naturally enough, Victor had gone out hunting again. His trail had eventually lead to Alkali Lake, just in time for him to catch a glimpse of Stryker being sentenced to death by his little brother. That had been a good day.

It was just a pity he had to leg it out of there straight after it.

Back to the present, Victor shook his head. With Stryker gone, he was the last link to Jimmy's past. The only threat to his peace, his innocence.

Victor stood up and sighed. "See you around, Jimmy." He said, as he turned and hopped onto the railing of the balcony. "If you ever come lookin' fer answers, I'll be at the cabin." He muttered over his shoulder before jumping down and landing effortlessly onto the lawn.

As he retreated and fled from his almost crime, Victor realised he had finally found a way to protect his little brother. And he'd do that by staying as far away from him as he could.

--

"That's it, Jimmy." Victor said, "Ya know everythin' there is to know."

Logan nodded. "Yeah, I guess I do."

The two brothers were quiet for a long time.

"So what happens now?" Victor asked. "Ya got the answers ya came fer."

Logan was about to answer when his phone suddenly started ringing, startling him out of whatever train of thought he was about to voice. Reaching into his back pocket, Logan took out a small black phone and flipped it open.

"Yeah?" He said into the device.

Storm's voice came through the speakers. "Logan, Oh thank god you're alright."

Logan frowned. "Yeah, of course I am darlin'. Why wouldn't I be?"

Storm's voice hesitated. "You don't know?" She asked.

"Know what?" The agitation started to creep into his voice.

Victor listened silently to the exchange, well able to hear. He could only barely contain the sneer that was threatening to mar his features. Even after all this time, despite his brother's feelings towards them, Victor was not an admirer of the X-men. They had wounded his pride; a group of kids had beaten him. Keeping the darker thoughts inside his head, Victor once again paid attention to the conversation.

"Haven't you seen the news? It's all over the TVs."

Through gritted teeth, Logan replied. "I ain't exactly in the best place for watchin' TV."

Storm sighed through the phone line. "Ok, listen, just get back to the manor as quickly as possible. There's trouble. And be careful; mutants are being targeted."

"Sure." Logan managed to get in before she hung up. He looked to Victor. "I gotta go." He said.

Victor nodded. "Sure." He replied as he waved him off.

Still, Logan didn't leave just yet. "Are you comin' with me?"

Victor scoffed. "I ain't no X-man."

"That doesn't matter." Logan said with a shake of his head. "Yer my brother."

Victor didn't look impressed.

Eventually, Logan spoke again. "I want you there. Yer my brother. And, if I'm right, there's another war comin'. I'd rather have you on _my_ side this time."

Slowly, Victor nodded. "Alright," He said eventually, "It's damn borin' here anyway."

* * *

**So that's that. I hope you enjoyed it. It's a little different to the others; what with Victor being the main character this time. I don't know, did I make him a bit OOC?**

**By the way, the character Sage isn't actually an OC; she's a mutant from one of the comics. But since I've only ever really followed the movies, I'd almost bet my life that she's completely out of character. I wasn't sure whether I should add a love interest into this, and in fact I hadn't intended to either. It kinda just happened. But I figured that eventually, Victor would meet someone who would catch his fancy.**

**Anyway, tell me what you think. **

**Cheers.**


	8. Chapter 8

**New chapter up, about two weeks ahead of schedule—which is nothing short of a miracle really.**

**Anyway, thanks to everyone who read and reviewed.**

**-- **

The car pulled up to the gates of the Xavier manor slowly, with a gentle purr of its engine. It was a rental car, courtesy of Storm and Hertz, but they had to use caution; there was something serious going on with mutant hating.

Logan couldn't quite pick it up from the numerous mutant bashing talk shows on the car's radio. Neither, for that matter, could he catch it from the single station that had seemed to support the mutants. It was crazy, like he'd just stepped back in time. The only reason he knew he hadn't was because of the other feral mutant who had insisted on driving the vehicle.

"C'mon Jimmy, gimme the password so we can just get inside already." Victor growled with a shove to get his little brother back into the present.

"I'll do it." Logan muttered as he leaned over Victor and reached to type in the access code.

"What the hell?" Victor shouted in the other mutant's ear. "Could've just let me do it." He said in a quieter tone, now that he wasn't being half suffocated with an adamantium-fused skeleton.

Logan gave a quick upward quirk of his lips. "I don't trust ya yet."

Victor looked furious for a moment, but then noticed the lightness in his brother's tone. Instead, he settled for some unintelligible mutterings that were too low even for heightened senses. As he did this, Victor put the car into gear and pulled up the drive quicker than he needed to.

"Hey, slow down, you'll scare the kids." Logan warned.

Victor scoffed and looked at his brother with a long sideways glance. "Since when did you become such a mother hen?"

"Listen, god knows what the hell's been happenin' here. If they see us skiddin' up the drive, they're gonna think we're in trouble. I won't let that happen."

"Yeah whatever." Victor muttered, but he slowed it down anyway. They pulled up at the front of the mansion promptly. Logan didn't even wait for Victor to stop the engine before opening the door and hopping out. Victor wasn't far behind, shoving the keys into his coat pocket before catching up and matching the brisk pace of his brother. By that time, Logan had a key of his own ready and he put it into the keyhole, opening the main door and moving inside. Victor closed it behind him with a casual backhand that made a loud 'thud' that reverberated around the whole room.

It was then that Storm appeared, hurrying down the stairs two steps at a time.

"Logan!" She greeted with evident relief before she even set eyes on him. When her eyes lifted and saw not one but two men in front of her, she stopped. She was very still for a long time.

Both Victor and Logan could see the thought process beyond her irises. "You know Victor, right?" Logan asked uncomfortably.

Slowly, Storm's eyes moved to Logan. It wasn't long however, before she stared at Victor intently once again. She seemed tense, nervous, worried, and just about ready to attack if she needed to. Victor was just about to become quite difficult when Storm blinked and composed herself.

"You're alive." She said.

Victor shrugged. "'Was last time I checked, anyway."

A sign of mild amusement flickered in the muscles of her eyes and lips. She looked to Logan. "I should have known," She said with a shake of her head, "Any brother of you wouldn't be deterred by a measly three hundred foot drop."

Victor scoffed, drawing the attention back to himself. "Ya kiddin' me? That was nothin'. It'd take a lot more than that to put me down."

Logan gave him a long sideways look, which showed exactly what he thought of Victor's healing abilities. There was no way _he_ could brush off that sort of fall, let alone Victor with his sluggish healing process. Victor glared at his brother, daring him to challenge his words. Logan just shrugged.

Storm caught the interaction between the two men but said nothing. She took the distraction as a chance to analyse the former Sabertooth. He didn't look as wild as he had before, didn't look like was going to start killing things either. That was good. And she was sure that Logan wouldn't bring a homicidal minded mutant into the house. After considering the circumstances, her options and the consequences to them, Storm nodded.

"It's my pleasure to welcome you to our home, Mr. Creed."

Victor could have scoffed, snorted or made some stinging, hostile comment. Instead, he nodded. "It's Victor. And thanks."

Storm nodded graciously at being corrected. "Victor, then." She said softly before becoming business-like. "But I'm afraid we don't have time to spare. I really must fill you in." She paused. "Can I make the assumption that we'll have you on our side, Victor?"

Victor's brow creased in slight agitation. Why the hell else would he be here if he wasn't going to be on their side. But still, he held his tongue. "'Course." He said.

"Good. Follow me."

Storm turned and walked briskly to the late Xavier's office. Logan and Victor followed a few steps behind. Logan closed the door behind him as he entered, turning around to see Storm and his brother sitting down by Xavier's old desk.

Storm hadn't changed the Professor's office at all. It was exactly the same as when Logan had been taken there after Sabertooth had attacked him and Marie all that time ago. The only differences were minimal; a small statuette of a horse that one of the kids had given Storm, a neatly stacked pile of papers and a flat screen TV on the wall. The remote to the TV was in her hand.

"Watch this." She told the other two mutants as she held up her arm and pressed the on button. The screen flickered on to show a group of people in a large auditorium-like structure. Men and women sat in designated places, marked by the names of their countries as they talked quietly to the neighbouring delegates. The seating plan was in a semi-circle around the focal point—a podium. There was no one standing behind it however. It took a moment before the two mutants recognised what they were seeing as a world meeting of some sort.

The air was sombre.

Logan frowned, "What—"

Storm interrupted him. "Watch." She said.

Logan returned his gaze to the scene on the monitor. As soon as he did, the room in the television hushed and a man strode up to the podium. He was a middle to older aged man, who had an air of ex-military about him. He wore a suit that was undoubtedly expensive and he carried a manila folder in the crook of his arm. There was a serious look in his eyes as he stood at the dais and glanced at the camera. The sound of him shuffling papers was amplified around the auditorium and consequently, through the TV speakers into Xavier's office. The man let out an unsteady breath and looked up. He didn't appear nervous, but he started his speech with a shake in his voice.

"As most of you know, my name is David Hewitt." He paused. His eyes were downcast, though focused too far away to be reading his notes. He licked his lips. "My wife and child were killed. Many of my friends have been permanently injured. All by mutants. Two months ago, I had to go to a young couple's house in Idaho and tell them that an uncontrollable mutant went wild and tore their daughter to pieces with his mind."

David Hewitt stopped, cleared his throat and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief that he produced from the inside of his jacket.

"You all know why I'm here today. I will _not_ allow innocent people to get hurt because of that species. I appeal to the assembly today that each mutant undergo a complete testing and collaring."

There was a wave of muttering that spread through the crowd at the man's controversial viewpoint. The adjudicator stood up angrily and called for quiet in the room. The room fell silent and the adjudicator motioned to the man to continue. Hewitt thanked him quietly before addressing the gathering.

"It seems harsh. I am aware of this. But I believe it is necessary. We _must_ know what kind of abilities these people have, and how powerful they are. We _must_ know, so we can prevent disasters before they happen. Despite the work of a small body, we have only seen hostility—immense hostility—from the mutant community. This cannot be tolerated. What happens the next time a person with the power to manipulate metal decides to lash out? Or what about the woman in America who stopped her ex-husband's heart from beating last week? This is an old argument. I know it is. But we are having it again and again, because so far, anything we have done has achieved nothing. We tried to ignore the problem, but the mutants demanded our attention. We tried to get rid of them; they fought back harder than ever. Then we tried to work together with them, and they turn around and do _this_ to us.

"I _know_ there are some groups; The X-men, The MPC, The UML, who have in the past worked for peace and symbiosis between _Homo sapien _and _Homo superior_. And to those who have, I personally thank you. You are a credit to your species and have acted admirably in my eyes. But even if a snake doesn't bite, it is still a snake. And the few who have decided not to fight are not nearly numerous enough for us to safely say that the mutant population will be kept subdued. I am not a trigger-happy man. These mutants say they want peace. I do too. This is a means of peace, an assurance that we _can_ live side by side. I don't want genocide, I don't want the remains of a species to be brought into labs and tested on. I don't want them to be put into prisons or ghettos or work camps. But I _do_ want safety."

"I don't want to ever again have to tell a parent that their child is dead. I _didn't_ ever want to be that parent, that husband, who was told. These mutants are not all bad. And to the ones that are decent, to the organisations that have fought for us, I beg that you come forward and agree to this. You want to save your species. This is the way to do it. To those that would fight this proposition—this peace offering… you are too dangerous not to be collared."

David Hewitt stopped for a moment, letting his words sink in. He closed his manila folder with half a sigh before continuing. He sounded nothing but saddened when he spoke again.

"Thank you all for taking the time to listen to me today. You know my beliefs, my wishes. But more importantly, you know what must be done. I have offered you the cleanest, cheapest, and fairest solution to this problem, you should all take it and avoid another war in our time."

The room was silent as the man gathered his folder and, instead of walking back to his seat, left the auditorium. The adjudicator stood up and introduced the next person, a woman in a baby pink suit that was walking to take her place at the podium when the screen went black.

Both Victor and Logan looked to Ororo Monroe to see the deep crease that had formed at her brow. "That was Davit Hewitt, one of the leading moderates proposing the suppressing of mutants."

Victor scoffed. "Why waste time showin' us the moderates? It's them crazies that always have the evil schemes."

Storm looked agitated, even though both men knew it wasn't directed at Victor. "Because it's the moderates that people are listening to. People have gone for crazy before and its done nothing but worsen the situation. That man," Storm said, pointing to the blank television screen, "Is a voice of reason in a screaming crowd. A loud voice that's downed out all the others."

"What happened to spark all of this off?" Logan asked, rubbing the side of his face.

Storm shook her head sadly. She looked tired. "A group of young mutants." She told them, "They were just kids really, but you know how kids get in groups. They were in school when a fight broke out between them and another group. One of the mutant kids got hit pretty badly. I think he might have hit his head, triggering off some sort of defence mechanism because he lost control of his powers. He had the ability to split atoms. He said that he had blacked out and when he came to, everyone within a ten foot radius to him was…" Storm gulped, avoiding the word that would best describe the scene, "…everyone was dead."

Storm ran a hand through her hair and distractedly fiddled with the pen on her desk. "The report showed five deaths in total; a teacher, two boys, one of his mutant friends and the young girl that David Hewitt was speaking of on that recording. The media got a hold of it and twisted it. Made it sound as if the boy was looking for trouble, as if he was a terror. People were outraged. Mutant hating groups rejoined and the attacks have started again. Hewitt is right, having mutants collared is possibly the only way to ensure peace."

"What exactly is this collarin' thing?" Victor asked.

"A band that keeps our powers suppressed. It's much like the cure, only it doesn't take away our powers, just stops them from being activated. It's not really a collar, more like a metal armband. But once it's on, it doesn't come off without a special device. If you're to believe the word on the street, they're made from adamantium. It's not really any different to the cure, only an illusion of more freedom. But I can't help but think it's the best we're going to get."

"Ain't no way they're getting that on me." Victor announced.

"The only alternative is war." Storm replied.

The room was quiet for a moment. Logan sat back in his chair and crossed his arms as his brow creased in thought. "What are we goin' to do?"

Storm shook her head. "We're a school full of children, not politicians." She groaned and hid her eyes for a second. "Oh, Logan, I can't ask these kids to give up their abilities. It's against everything we've ever stood for; Charles wanted a world that accepted us for us. He wanted us to combine our powers so that we could work together and thrive. Not this…"

Victor shook his head. "That ain't never gonna happen, sister. Humans don't like to share. Trust me, I've seen it enough times—we both have." He motioned to his brother. "It ain't gonna change."

"Oh yeah, and what do you suggest we do?" Storm demanded as bitterness and anger crept through her voice.

Victor shrugged. "Jimmy, you know my views. Only sure way that I can think of is war."

Storm stopped whatever she was going to say next due to astonishment. "War?" She said incredulously, "War? Are you insane? That's exactly the opposite of what we're trying to achieve. We're not soldiers, we just want peace."

Victor scoffed. "Yer not soldiers, not politicians so what are you? Just a bunch of kids playing dress up? Grow up, would ya?"

Storm snarled—actually snarled. Her eyes bled white in fury and she spit her words through gritted teeth. "Grow up?" She asked, as the sky outside dulled ominously, "Grow up!" She shrieked. "You pathetic little man, what the hell would you know about growing up? The things I'd do for this school, for these children—the things I've already done. The sacrifices I made by coming here, by continuing on after the Professor died. And I'd do it all again for these children. But what about you? What the hell do you have to show for _your_ miserable life? Do you have any idea how much pain you caused us mutants? This whole thing," She waved her arm at the television, "is partly on your head. You did this—so don't _you_ even _dare_ lecture me on growing up!"

Victor jumped up and roared his retort. "Me? I haven't done squat. That was Magneto not me—the old coot would'a done it with or without me. You ain't got no right to—"

Logan jumped into the fray himself with a shake of his head, using his body as a barrier between the two mutants.

"Stop it!" He commanded in his best 'no-nonsense' voice. Storm and Victor did as he commanded. Logan allotted about a second and a half for himself to feel smug before dealing with the other two mutants.

"What yer doin' now ain't helpin' anyone. Not the kids and certainly not us. This situation looks bad, I get that, but now is not the time to be lashin' out and actin' stupid." Logan told both of them, but his eyes lingered on Victor longer than Storm. "Now, are we goin' to start talkin' like grown-ups or do we need to take a break?"

Victor's jaw seemed set in stubbornness. Storm lowered her gaze, looking ashamed. Her eyes bled back to their normal colour and she regained her composure.

"Of course," She said, "Forgive me. I know it's no excuse, but I've been under a lot of stress at the moment. I apologise, Victor, I shouldn't have snapped at you."

Victor didn't speak for a long time. Logan glared at him darkly—something that Victor decidedly ignored. Eventually he nodded "Sure, sorry." He muttered reluctantly.

Storm sighed in relief and in fatigue as she lowered herself back down in the chair. "It's been a long couple of months." She said absently, "I still have no idea what to do about this. Charles would know…"

"Yeah well he ain't here." Victor observed correctly, though insensitively. Storm gave him a dark look but Victor continued. "Hear me out, would ya?" He said in agitation.

Storm made a small gesture with her hand for him to continue. Both Victor and Logan had returned to their seats by the time he started to share his views.

"It's like this; people are afraid that mutants are goin' to destroy the world or somethin', yeah?" Victor looked around to gain approval. Both Logan and Storm nodded. "They think that little by little, we're all goin' psycho and attackin' it in small bits. So if we start a war and show them our true powers and then stop it, they'll see that we weren't doin' nothin'. If we get the humans scared of us and then say that we only fought 'cause we were pushed into a corner, not only would we gain a certain amount of sympathy, but it'll also show that we _choose_ peace. At that stage we could get anythin' we wanted from peaceful negotiations. Hell, we could even get a whole continent just for mutants, I'd bet."

Logan knew Victor wasn't just the half-witted animal he tried to portray, and hence, this decision did not surprise him. Actually, it made good sense. He was almost at the point of thinking it could work when Storm shook her head and said it wouldn't.

Victor looked insulted that she had not thought it was a good idea. "And why the hell not?" He demanded.

"In theory, it's a fine idea." Storm confessed. "And if I was a general of an army, then yes, I'd do it. But as I've said before, this is a school and I'm not willing to put that kind of blood on my hands. Charles may no longer be here, but I will still follow his ethos. War isn't the way forward. I'm sorry."

Victor shrugged. "Maybe not." He admitted, "But it's the way its gonna be. Trust me, if I've seen it once, I've seen it a thousand times. Humans can't wait to go to war. I bet they're already itchin' fer it."

A small disapproving crinkle appeared between Storm's brows. "I think you should put more faith in humanity." She suggested.

Victor snorted. "Lady, I've been around too long to put any sort of faith in anythin' to do with humanity. You've got no clue what me an' Jimmy have been through, or how much we've seen. This sort of thing has happened before, why wouldn't it happen again?"

Storm pursed her lips and thought about Victor's words. She looked to the quiet Logan as she thought. "So you found your answers?" She asked, though she had already made the presumption that he had. Logan nodded to confirm her assumptions.

"I'm glad." She said honestly. She took another moment to think. When she had come to a conclusion in her head, she nodded slightly and her gaze fell on the two feral mutants in front of her. "I can't control what happens in the political world—and I think it's to soon to take action without seeing how things pan out. Therefore, we'll have to decide what to do about the students here."

"They're still all here, are they?" Logan asked, genuinely interested to see what kind of situation they would be dealing with.

Storm gave a quick shake of her head. "Not all, no. Some of the student's parents took them home, but the majority of them are, yes."

"What, don't their mummies and daddies care about them?" Victor scoffed as he lounged sluggishly in his chair. This received him another dark look from Storm and forced Logan to express his feelings through a roll of his eyes.

Storm's jaw was visibly tensed. "Some of their parents don't care—you're right. Some of them don't even have parents. But on the other hand, there are also a lot of parents who don't think it would be safe to allow their mutant child to come back to a mutant hating area. This school is home for a lot of these children—it's a refuge, a safe haven. That's why I've decided to include them on this," She stood up, "We'll take a vote and see what's to be done."

Logan nodded slowly as he too, considered their options. "Yeah, though its probably safer fer them here than with any of their families."

Storm nodded and moved from behind the desk and made her way to the door. "I'll gather them up." She said as she disappeared form the room.

Logan shifted uncomfortably as he prepared for what he was about to say. "Here, Victor… Just, ya might want to watch what ya say and how ya react to things. I mean, yer not exactly the most favourite person 'round here."

Victor bristled. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He demanded, crossing his arms and rising to his full height.

Logan met his brother's gaze and remained impassive to his aggression. "Look, I'm just sayin', the last time any o' these kids heard from you, you were tryin' to kill half the human population. Not to mention Marie—hell I don't even…" Logan trailed away, imagining all the possible scenarios of Marie and Victor meeting. Considering Victor had terrorised her not so long ago, Logan couldn't imagine that she'd be all that happy to see him.

"What?" Victor asked, still agitated.

Logan shook his head. "Nothin', don't worry 'bout it. C'mon, I don't wanna keep Storm waitin'."

Victor's mood diminished as a grin split across his face, "Whipped much?" He questioned, snorting.

Logan wasn't even insulted. "I'll tell ya, you get hit with one or two of Storm's lightning forks and see how brave you are after it." Logan walked past Victor and followed Storm's exit.

Victor couldn't help but shake his head in amusement. "Geez, if only Stryker knew all he had to do to tame you was dump you in a school full o' kids and a fine lookin' broad." He muttered to himself as he walked through the door, closing it with a bang.

--

By the time Logan and Victor got into the sitting room where all the kids had gathered, they were already last to arrive. They were met with the sound of quiet, uneasy conversations between small groups that were too afraid to be truly enjoying the frivolous things they were talking about. Logan stepped through first, going over to the wall so he could lean against it. Storm was seated in front of everyone and all the students were facing more or less in her direction. Ororo saw that the two feral mutants had arrived and nodded slightly. She stood up and was about to speak when one of the students, a boy about thirteen, shouted out in sudden fear as his gaze fell on Victor. Like dominos falling, each head turned in the direction of Logan and Victor. Hank McCoy and Warren Worthington had, amazingly, only noticed their presence with the rest of the school. It was a scene where absolute chaos looked likely to erupt any second. Luckily for Victor though, Storm's calm, cool voice controlled everything.

"Which brings us to our new guest." She said in a voice that was slightly offhand and just casual enough for everyone to know she was not worried. Yet it was not so easygoing as to let anyone think for a moment that any type of projectile would be permitted. Some of the students had already stood up and looked ready to explode into a flurry of impressive 'Logan learned' defence moves. But Storm made them hesitate and think twice. Logan saw Marie standing alongside Bobby, he was glad to see her, but her eyes were firmly on Victor. Throwing a quick glance to his brother, Logan caught the 'cool as cucumber' air that Victor was emitting into the room.

Hank cleared his throat politely. "What, may I ask, is going on?" His gaze went from Storm to Victor and then to Logan.

Victor looked at the blue feral mutant with disinterest. As far as he was concerned, the so called 'McCoy' was nothing more that a blue rug. He didn't look all that threatening. As for the spoilt looking kid with wings beside him?

They sure as hell don't make X-men like they used to…

He thought about saying it, but remembered Logan's words and decided against it. He'd have plenty of chances to screw up somehow later; it was probably for the best he didn't fall at the first fence. But damn were they making it hard on him.

Logan looked to Storm, expecting her to do the talking. Instead, he met her commanding gaze that clearly gave him his orders.

Logan sighed. "This is Victor Creed." He said, "He's gonna be stayin' with us fer a while."

There was a moment where the room was silent, expecting Logan to say more—like explain _why_ the new arrival was here. Of course they knew who he was, Victor Creed had turned into something of a bogeyman among the younger kids and occasionally one of them would have nightmares about them. Hank McCoy couldn't remember the amount of times he had assured the children that Sabertooth was dead and that they should all get back to sleep. Great, now he had just lost all credibility.

"Like hell he is!" Marie shouted from her spot beside Bobby Drake. She looked as if she was ready to pummel Victor. Logan was tense, afraid that she actually would—not that she'd be any threat to Victor but rather a threat to herself. Marie's powers were gone; it would be like a kitten trying to kill an elephant. Victor would squish her, even if he _was_ on his best behaviour today.

"Yeah, he is." Logan told her calmly.

Marie looked horrified. "Logan, he tried ta kill me! He's with Magneto. Ya can't be serious."

"Well I am, so get used to it darlin' 'caus he's got as much right to be here as anyone else."

Marie's eyes widened with disbelief that Logan would use such a hostile tone towards her.

"He's a terrorist!" Bobby Drake snarled, coming to the aid of his girlfriend, grabbing her hand protectively. Many other voices rose in agreement as the younger kids shuffled further away.

Logan growled. "Now look here," He said. "Victor ain't a terrorist. And even if he was, didn't the professor always say that everyone deserved a second chance?"

Victor snorted at the cheesiness and received a dark glare from Logan. He just shrugged as if to say, 'what did you think was going to happen'? Truth was, Logan hadn't thought that far ahead. Looking back, it would have been a good idea.

"What if he tries to kill us?" One of the younger kids asked.

"Or eat us?" Another cried, setting off another wave of fear and panic.

Logan smacked his hand to his forehead. "Shut it!" He roared ferociously, shocking everyone into stunned silence. "He's not gonna kill you and he sure as hell won't _eat_ any of you." Logan turned to his brother. "Tell 'em."

Victor sighed, "He's right. Kids taste disgusting."

"Shut up." Logan ordered as he turned back to the children whose eyes were as wide as plates. "He's jokin'." He explained quickly, before they got any more ideas.

"How d'you know he's not just playin' ya fer a fool, Logan?" Marie demanded, the anger still prevalent in her voice.

"Bloody hell, Marie, don't ya even have the smallest bit of faith in me?" He asked, exasperated. Marie's eyes were hard. She stood her ground. Such stubbornness usually made him proud—now it was damn annoying.

"Ya wanna know how I know?" Logan asked, looking around the room and meeting the eager gazes. "'Cause he's my brother."

There was utter stillness in the room. No one moved for a long time. Victor was the first to really spoil the mood by pushing himself off of the wall he had been leaning on and saying, "Well, that was fun."

Before Logan could retort with frustrated response, Storm once again took over.

"Now that we've got that settled," She said, making everyone to grudgingly turn away from the brothers and look at her, "We really must get the to real matter at hand."

There was a sudden rush of quiet murmurs through the room that was characteristic of any school children.

"I've called you all together because as you know, there is more unrest than ever before. And as such, we must decide on a course of action. I don't know how long this peacetime will last, but we need to take advantage of it and be prepared. I'm going to let you all decide what is the best option. Would you rather we shut the school down and send you home? Or would you rather stay? I know there are some of you who do not have homes to go to and if we do close the school, we will of course, provide safe accommodation for you."

Victor glanced around the room dispassionately as Storm continued speaking.

"We're not going to make you make up your minds just yet; you'll have the rest of the evening to decide. Write down your decision and we'll gather all of them. Alright?"

There were nods and murmurs, but no one spoke.

"Alright then," Storm went on, "We won't take any more of your time. Please consider this carefully."

Storm moved from her place and walked back down the room towards Victor and Logan. "Logan, you can get Victor settled in, can't you?" She asked. "I've got some things to take care of."

Logan nodded. "O' course."

Storm smiled and moved away briskly, going off to do whatever she needed to. By the time Logan looked back, Hank McCoy was halfway over to them. Warren Worthington held back, gazing suspiciously at Victor.

"Good afternoon," Hank McCoy said as he extended out his furry blue hand, "I'm Dr. McCoy, but Hank is fine."

Victor looked down at the hand dispassionately. He huffed. "Victor." He said shortly, looking just slightly agitated.

Logan moved quickly. "Doc, can this wait till later? We've been travellin' all day."

Hank looked slightly flustered at the sudden change in situation but nodded. "Ah, of course yes, how rude of me—it never even crossed my mind."

"No prob Doc, I'll see ya later." Logan said as he pushed Victor out of the room. He glanced back to see that most of the student body had already dispersed. Only Marie and Bobby Drake stayed still. Marie was glaring darkly at him and Victor. Her hands were by her side and clenched. She looked almost sinister and it caused Logan to shudder and quickly turn around. He never thought he'd say this but, thank god for the cure. At least now he could sleep soundly without having to worry about Victor getting his powers and life drained.

"C'mon." Logan muttered gruffly, "Let's go before this gets messy."

Victor was ushered out of the room, all the while protesting grouchily. "What the hell?" He grumbled.

Logan shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Here, I'll show you the room."

They walked back into the corridor and halfway up the stairs when they heard Storm's voice calling to them. They turned and faced the quickly approaching Storm. She looked tense.

"What is it?" Logan asked.

Storm held up a piece of paper. It was a letter that looked very official. "_This_ was delivered by a messenger just a moment ago…" She trailed off for a second as she turned it to face her. "It's a request for a dialogue."

"Dialogue?" Logan asked with a frown. "From who?"

Storm looked up with an unidentifiable emotion. It was something between confusion, amazement and fear. "It's from David Hewitt."

--

**Well that's it for another while anyway.**

**By the way, the abbreviations earlier in the chapter MPC and UML stand for Mutant Peace Corp and United Mutant's League. As far as I know, they aren't real groups in the X-verse so I claiming them as my own.**

**Anyway hope you enjoyed it. **

**Cheers.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey guys, sorry this has taken so long. This chapter was such a pain. Or at least the first five pages were. After that, it was all pretty easy. In fact it only took me a day to finish this chapter off while it took all those months to start it. Life has been hectic, and while I'm sure I should have the next chapter up on schedule, there is a chance I won't****. Oh, by the way, because it's been so long I'll just remind you that MPC stands for Mutant Peace Corps and the UML stands for United Mutant League. Anyway, enjoy.**

--

* * *

The place had been arranged. The day had been agreed upon and the time was already sorted. The dialogue would happen at half eleven that morning. David Hewitt looked up from his notebook to glance at the clock. It was twenty-eight minutes passed eleven. Soon the representatives from the three mutant groups, the X-men, the MPC and the UML, would be let into the meeting room and they would finally discuss what needed to be done. Hewitt wasn't an unreasonable man, he needed those few groups of mutants to realise that. In fact, it was vital for his plan to have the co-operation of the few sane mutants.

A slight smile crept up onto his lips and slowly grew into a lopsided grin. He shook his head in an attempt to remove any signs of his happiness from his face. It failed. David Hewitt felt slightly giddy. He was so close to getting the revenge he wanted for his family. He knew that all out war would be unwise and he didn't even want it. He did, however, want to hold the lives of the mutants who killed his family in his hands. He wanted the power to crush them, even though he knew he would never do it. He could never forgive the creatures who ruined his life. This was his revenge. The fact that it would help hundreds of thousands of people was just a nice benefit. But he wasn't entirely being fair on himself; he had always wanted to help the world, this was killing two birds with one stone—he was a practical man, what could he say?

The familiar click of the door being opened made him look up suddenly. His smiling secretary was standing there with a sheet in her hand.

"Mrs. Cummings." He greeted when she didn't speak immediately.

Mrs. Cummings' smile grew larger. "The X-men and the UML are here, I have the list of the members that are attending this meeting." She told her employer as she entered further into the room and handed him the piece of paper with the names there. In total, he read six names.

"Thank you Mrs. Cummings." He muttered distractedly, his eyes glancing over the page. "Send them in, would you?"

Mrs. Cummings nodded and then stopped. "The MPC aren't here yet sir."

"I'm well aware of that, don't worry about it; they're late so we can hardly be blamed for it now, can we?"

"Of course, sir, I'll get them right away then." She said as she promptly left the room, closing the door behind her.

David Hewitt took one more look at the sheet. He was unsurprised at whom the UML decided to send, but the X-men were a different story. Ororo Monroe was there of course, that was hardly surprising; the woman could have been a UN negotiator, she was that good. But the other two...

Logan, perhaps Hewitt could understand, he may not have the most experience with these things but he was fiercely loyal and protective of the children who attended the school. So logically, he was still a good choice when it came to doing what was in the best interests for the children. But the other one, Victor Creed. That choice was baffling to Hewitt. He knew about Victor, the man was muscle—a lot of muscle—but his forte was not in politics. Perhaps the X-men thought the presence of the giant feral mutant would intimidate him?

Hewitt shook his head with an amused smile. No, that didn't fit Storm's personality. There was some other reason for it; he just couldn't think what that might be.

Quickly, at the sound of footsteps, Hewitt folded up the piece of paper and put it into his pocket.

The door opened to show the leader of the UML, James Davis. "Mr. Hewitt." Davis greeted with a polite nod of his head.

David Hewitt stood up. "Welcome, Mr. Davis. Please take a seat."

Davis nodded and sat down; his two partners followed him and sat down beside him. Next, Ororo Monroe appeared at the door. She didn't wait to be told to sit; instead she just went straight in and took her seat confidently.

"Good day, Mr. Hewitt." She said professionally.

Logan and Victor followed her in, sitting on either side of Storm, looking more like huge bodyguards than representatives. Again, Hewitt couldn't figure out why they were there.

Hewitt took a quick, fortifying breath to still his nervous anticipation. "Very well, we'll begin." He announced to the room.

James Davis stopped him. "Aren't you going to wait for the MPC to arrive?

Hewitt's gaze darkened ever so slightly. "I'm a very busy man; I can't just wait around all day when a party decides not to show up. It is now..." He looked down at his watch, "Eleven thirty-nine, I cannot afford to waste anymore time. I must apologise if you find this rude but it is the way it must be."

There were a few nods around the table, but Hewitt wouldn't have cared if there hadn't been. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the door opened and what was presumably the MPC entered.

Victor's eyes widened in utter shock and he stood up when he saw the woman at the door.

The woman, for her part raised an eyebrow in surprise, but quickly ignored Victor. "Mr. Hewitt, you must forgive us for being so late, I really must apologise; we ran into a mutant hating mob on the way here and we were forced to take the longer way. You understand I'm sure?" She said in a controlled tone that rivalled Storm's. She didn't wait to be told before she seated herself at the head of the table with her two co-workers standing behind her.

"Of course, Sage, that is understandable." Hewitt said with a nod. However, he was half distracted with the standing Victor Creed who looked like someone had told him he would have to be a vegetarian for the rest of his life.

"Victor?" Logan's gruff voice snapped his brother out of his shock.

Victor looked embarrassed and then angry because of it. He cleared his throat and growled, looking around the table. "What the hell are you waitin' for?"

It took a moment before anyone remembered their manners and got back down to business.

"I have called all of you here today because your groups are the pillars of virtue for your species. You have all worked in a way that is admirable and progressive towards a peaceful co-existence between mutants and humans. Keeping that in mind, I am asking you to accept the motion of identifying and collaring mutants."

Everyone's eyes were hard, Sage spoke.

"You said this was a dialogue, not a way for you to promote your proposal. A proposal that is both discriminatory and flawed."

Victor was glad to have the excuse to look at his ex-lover. She had barely changed since he saw her last.

Hewitt chose his next words carefully. "I know that this situation is not ideal. But it is the sad fact that something must be done. This method is the safest for mutants, the least radical."

"You want to collar us like animals!" James Davis of the UML cried.

"That was an unfortunate wording. I hadn't originally considered the connotations that were associated with it. I can change the name—that is not so difficult to do."

He picked up his pen and scribbled down a few words.

"Are you using us as an information source or do you really want a dialogue, Mr. Hewitt?" Storm's cool voice asked thoughtfully.

"I would not be so underhanded, Ms. Monroe. What I want is to come to an agreement with you three groups. I am willing to compromise on certain aspects of this proposal because I feel it is important that I try and make everyone as happy as they can be."

"There doesn't seem to be much compromise goin' on here." Victor pointed out.

David Hewitt looked darkly at Victor. "You haven't given me much of a chance. All we've done is squabble over semantics. I do not want you three groups to suffer, I do not want any innocent mutant to suffer, but you must understand what position I am in. If a mutant kills twenty people, what can we do? We can't lock them up because they are just as dangerous behind bars, we can't kill them because that would be inhumane, and we can't very well let go so it can happen again. This was stop mutant related violence completely; mutants will not be tempted to use their powers and humans will not feel the need to put them in positions so that they feel they have to."

"You think humans will just stop hating mutants because our powers have been stopped? I can't see that happening. It's much more likely that we will become easier targets, don't you think?" Sage cut in.

Hewitt nodded. "Perhaps, that's where you three groups can come in." He said.

Each mutant exchanged glances around the table, the one thought in all of their minds; He wanted to use them.

"I have already said that you could help this process along by encouraging other mutants to agree to the collaring. But I had taken into consideration that there will be some human's who might use the mutant's lack of powers to their advantage. In response to that, I have decided to leave some trustworthy mutants with their powers."

"Us." Logan grunted with a scowl. He didn't like this, not at all.

Hewitt nodded. "Yes. You will be the protector's of you race. People will know you will be allowed to keep your powers and that you will be allowed to take whatever action is necessary to deal with anyone who mistreats the mutant populace."

"You're trying to turn us into hypocrites and lapdogs. You want us to tell our people to take the collar while we will be exempt, and you want us to work as your little minions? Do you even know what you're asking us? We will be shunned by humans and hated by mutants." Said James Davis.

Hewitt nodded. "Perhaps." He agreed, "But your people will be alive to hate you. Isn't that worth it?"

The meeting room was quiet.

No one was quite sure what to say in response to that. It was true that they all hated what the man in front of them was proposing...but it seemed to be the only way. It was Logan who eventually broke the silence, though it was somewhat off topic.

"Some mutants can't be collared." He said, making everyone look at him in surprise at the sound of his voice. "If you take away their powers it'd kill 'em."

Hewitt nodded. "I thought you might bring that up." He said to Logan. Logan cocked his head to the side questioningly. He gave a slightly suspicious look. Why would Hewitt think he, of all people, would bring it up?

David Hewitt caught the look and grinned. "I know all about you, Logan. Or do you go by James Howlett now?"

Logan glared; he glanced at Victor almost accusingly and then returned to glaring. "How do you know that?" He demanded.

Hewitt smiled knowingly. "Don't worry, it's nothing sinister. I worked for a long time in the military. One of my posts involved going through a lot of highly classified material. One of which was the 'Weapon X' file. So don't worry, I know all about your adamantium transplants and your healing abilities. That's why you're worried, isn't it? Because if we took your ability away from you, you'd be killed, right?"

"I ain't the only one that needs their abilities to survive." Logan muttered darkly with a hint of slight resentment. He didn't like the man knowing about him, knowing facts that until recently not even Logan himself knew. It irked him, it creeped him out.

Although, Hewitt didn't express any knowledge of Logan's dark feelings, he just nodded.

"Yes, I have taken that into account. Of course there will be some mutants that won't be able to survive should they be collared. It is because of this, I have implemented a rule that before there is any collaring taken place mutants will have their abilities identified. Then, we will decide what to do from there."

"Why not give us an example of what you intend to do, Mr. Hewitt." Storm said. She had been very quiet throughout the whole meeting so far. If she hadn't been such a presence naturally, people would have started to forget she was there.

Hewitt rose to Storm's challenge expertly. "Well, for instance, though it hasn't been completed yet, I have a team of scientists working on taking away only some abilities. Essentially, we'll be able to take whatever aggressive abilities there are away and leave non-threatening ones like Logan's healing abilities, for example. You'll find, I'm sure, that I really am trying to be fair here."

The table was quiet. Despite what they would have thought, Hewitt _was _being fair. They didn't like it, in fact, they hated it. It screamed failure to them. But it was about as good an offer as they would ever get. If they didn't accept it, what was left? War? Annihilation? David Hewitt was a man that people liked, that people listened to. He wasn't power hungry or crazy, he held a grudge any mutant could see that, but he wasn't acting on it. What would happen if they refused this? He would be replaced, there wouldn't be any one else who was better than him. He was about as mutant loving as people came these days—not that that was saying much.

"You can't expect us to answer right away." Storm said, even though she looked like she had made up her mind. "We need some time to consider this, sort the information you have given us out in our heads. Maybe even consult some of our people. I, for one, am not willing to say that the X-men will agree to this when at most there is only going to be three people who have given their opinion on the matter."

Sage nodded. "I'll second that."

"I would consider your proposal further also." James Davis said, folding his arms and leaning back.

Hewitt looked as if he had expected such a response. "Of course. I was initially going to suggest you think about it over lunch, but why don't we make an appointment for tomorrow morning? That should give you plenty of time to get your affairs in order and of course, I will pay for any accommodations you might need for the night."

"We couldn't—" Storm began to say when Hewitt held up his hand.

"When I say 'I', I mean my office. We have funding for this sort of thing; it's really quite all right."

With a few quick looks around the table, they all eventually agreed.

"All right then," Hewitt said, "How about we schedule this for the same time tomorrow. If you do have some spare time I really suggest you go out and see the city if you haven't already; it really is very beautiful. Meeting adjourned."

The door in the secretary's office opened as Sage left the meeting room, quickly. Victor was next out, catching up to her in three fast strides. She hadn't made it to the other end of the room before Victor grabbed her arm and wrenched her to a stop. She turned to look at him coldly.

"Yes, Mr. Creed?" She asked without any fondness in her voice. Victor almost flinched at the iciness in the tone.

His expression softened as he looked at her. He looked sad. "Don't be like that." He muttered, suddenly aware of all the other people in the room.

"Let go of me Victor, this isn't the time or the place, you know that as well as I do." Sage ordered sternly.

Victor's jaw clenched and he averted his eyes, reluctantly letting his hand drop down to the side. "Sorry." He mumbled.

Sage didn't say anything as she turned and left with anger in her eyes. Anger and hurt. He could always read her so well, now he wished he couldn't. Victor turned to see every one looking at him.

"What the hell are you lookin' at?" He snarled as he turned on his heel and strode out of the room. Logan and Storm gave a quick look at each other and Logan shrugged.

"What just happened?" James Davis asked.

"Beats me." Logan admitted.

* * *

"Ya want to tell me what the hell is with you?" Logan growled.

There were in the hotel provided for them by David Hewitt. Storm had taken a call outside and told them that she would be up in a few minutes. They made themselves comfortable and Logan decided it was time to see what was going on with his brother. Victor had been grouchy and cantankerous since he had seen the MPC leader walk into the room. Logan didn't need to know everything about Victor's life; he didn't mind that he had his own life; there were things he just didn't care about. But when it affected other people it became his problem.

Logan expected Victor to attack—verbally or physically, he expected Victor to yell and shout and growl and snarl defensively. Instead, Victor looked at him with tired eyes and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Remember I told you about GENISIS?" Victor asked.

He did remember, he had been thinking on and off about that group ever since Victor had told him about them. It was so alien to see Victor working for anyone, let alone a team. "She was one of them?" Logan asked.

With a gloomy nod, Victor explained. "She was my partner."

"So she's angry at you for leaving?"

"It's more than that," Victor admitted, "I lied when I told you about her."

Suddenly, Logan realised what the issue was. "You were in a relationship with her." He stated, understanding the issue now. Victor nodded. "An' you left without sayin' goodbye, right?" Logan finished.

Victor looked up at him. He seemed miserable. Logan felt bad for him. And suddenly, he knew why it was affecting him so badly.

"An' you loved her." He finished.

The other feral looked ready to deny it to the death. Logan gave him a withering look and instead of answering, he gave a miserable shake of his head.

"Why d'you leave?"

Victor shrugged and averted his eyes. "Not like you would understand." He said, in the voice of a petulant child.

Logan crossed his arms. "Try me." He challenged.

Victor shook his head. He didn't answer, he couldn't answer. "I'm goin' out fer a walk, I'll see you later." Victor pushed himself up off of the bed and stalked past his brother. Logan struck out at him and grabbed his arm.

"Fer God's sake, Victor." Logan growled, "If yer goin' to go to her just don't do anythin' stupid. Yer goin' missin' at a really important time—so don't waste yer chance away."

Victor looked at him darkly, "Don't, Jimmy. Jus' mind yer own damn business. You ain't a part o' this, so don't try to be."

He brushed by Logan with a huff. Damn little brothers. He shut the door with a bang.

* * *

Sage was discussing numbers with someone on the phone when the knock on the door came. She stopped her mindless pacing and went over to the door. Expecting it to be someone else, Sage didn't bother looking when she flipped the lock and pulled the door open.

"Yes, I want you to..." She stopped speaking as she saw the dark figure standing at the door patiently, looking at her expectantly, hopefully, like a shunned puppy.

"Mike, can I call you back? Something's come up." She hung up the phone and stared at Victor.

"Can I come in?" He asked, shuffling from one foot to the other, looking comically uncomfortable for a man his size and stature. Sage let him sweat for a while, enjoying his unease. It was perhaps the slight sadistic side of her personality coming out. Eventually she gave a curt, almost non-existent nod and stepped aside. She crossed her arms as she wandered lazily back into the room, keeping her head down, trying to look disinterested.

"We have nothing really to talk about, Victor." She said, facing away from him, almost addressing the wall rather than the man.

"Ya can't really blame me fer wantin' to try."

Sage shook her head. "I don't know what you want."

Victor didn't reply. He didn't know either. He wasn't sure why he came down to her room. Hell, he didn't even really know why he was at the conference to begin with.

"I'm sorry." He apologised gently, keeping a respectful distance from his once lover.

Sage turned, perhaps to examine his honesty.

"It's been twenty years." She told him. Victor nodded. It had felt longer than that, but he couldn't deny it.

"I suppose—"

"It's been twenty years," Sage's voice interrupted, "And I never once hated you. I still don't."

Victor hesitated, unsure of how he should answer. He wasn't sure if he even _should_ answer. He decided to stay quiet. Sage was logic incarnate. That was one of the strange things of their relationship; she was logic while he was the incarnation of instinct. Yet it worked—kind of, and he was amazed to find himself back, begging at her heels like a lost dog. He didn't know what he was doing there, not really. He had closed the door on this woman, and on this relationship, and Victor Creed was not a man who tried to go back and open closed doors. But the fact remained that he was there and Sage was taking the time to consider him. Maybe not consider him in a good way, but she hadn't kicked him out or tried to kill him yet. Which in Victor's books meant there was hope.

Victor frowned suddenly. Hope? Hope for what? He almost groaned. What was he doing there? He had neither the right, nor a reason when he really thought about it.

"You haven't aged a day." Victor said finally. He wouldn't have believed it, but the evidence was in front of him. He noticed it the moment she walked into the meeting that morning. He almost thought he had stepped back in time.

Sage scowled. "Only on the outside." She mentioned.

Sage was not a hostile woman. But Victor had hurt her. He had ruined everything. In hindsight, it seemed clear. But the future consequences of his actions could not have been predicted.

"You said I'd hate you." Sage's voice commanded his attention again. He studied her. Her thumb was lightly touching her lip, an old habit that showed she was considering something. "And back then, you might have been right. I would have hated you, being young and perfect while I aged and died. But I've changed—inside. Not that it means anything, but I often thought of you when I studied my developing maturity over the years."

"I don't know what you mean by that." Victor admitted with a slight crease on his brow. He watched, perplexed, as Sage held her hands out and shook her head.

"Hmm, I wonder," She mused, strolling around the room. "I wonder if it means anything at all."

Victor watched her walk; he stood still, his hands rubbing the sides of her trousers unconsciously. "What are you doing here?" Victor eventually asked to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling within himself and the sound of his pumping heart.

Sage turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "What am _I_ doing here?" She asked incredulously, "You mean in my hotel room? In my company? I'm not the one who sought you out Victor." She sounded amused, and that was good. Twenty years might have been a long time, but Victor was always wary of a woman scorned. He had yet to experience a force greater.

He allowed himself the slightest of smiles. "I meant with the MPC and not with GENISIS. I never thought you'd leave Vargha and the rest of the group."

Sage clicked her tongue. "I never did leave Janos Vargha, I was with him right until he died three years ago. After that, his son took over the family business. He was fine—not the same, but fine. Still, my debt was to Janos, not his son. I left and I created the Mutant Peace Corps with another mutant, Sean Cassidy; he called himself Banshee. Ever hear of him?" Sage asked. Victor shook his head and Sage shrugged, continuing on with her story, "Not to worry. He died soon after we created the organisation anyway. So I became the sole leader. But you knew that right?"

Victor shook his head. "Not before this second. I've bin a little... out o' touch with the world."

Sage looked mildly surprised for a split second. "You must have been more than just a little bit out of touch, Victor. The MPC has been working together with the UML to better the interspecies relations since Magneto tried that stunt up on the Statue of Liberty."

Victor had been a part of that too. He knew she knew that. Her face didn't hide her knowledge, but at least her words did. He was grateful for it. He just nodded. "Well, I've bin busy."

"Of course." Sage agreed wholeheartedly with an expression that was too sincere to be anything but artificial.

Victor scowled. "Watch it." He growled suddenly. The MPC leader's face darkened slightly along with Victor's.

"Or what? Will you attack me? Hit me? Choke me? Or will you just leave again, hmm? I have nothing invested in you anymore, Victor. I owe you no courtesy."

Victor's jaw tightened as he reined his emotions in. "Damn broad." He muttered, moving away and starting to pace. "I came 'ere to apologise. Least you could do is accept it."

"I won't give you my forgiveness Victor because I won't give you my anger, or hatred or sadness. You left me in the night like a thief leaving a crime scene. It was cowardly. But you had to do what you had to do. You have to look after yourself before you try to take care of anyone else; I understand that. You didn't love me; so you did right by you. I won't fault you for that."

"Goddamn it, you don't get it at all, do you?" Victor snarled in the face of the calm, collected woman who stood like a soldier awaiting an order.

"There's nothing _to_ get, Victor."

Victor growled, threw his hands up in the air and paced swiftly in front of stage. He stopped and looked like he was about to try and talk to her. He only managed eye contact before he snarled and started striding once again.

"Just stop this Victor, I don't—" She started to say.

"I loved you." Victor all but yelled, cutting her off with such a surprising statement. His voice had wavered embarrassingly and had almost broken as he forced the words out. He had a strangely honest expression on his face. It showed his fear and worry at being so exposed to another person. It was against his very nature, against his upbringing.

"You loved me?" Sage repeated slowly with a frown.

"That's right." He shuffled, awkwardly pulling on his sleeves.

"You loved me, and you left me? What the hell kind of logic is that Victor? Is it even that? Or are you just lying to me? Do I seem so pathetic to you that you can't tell me the truth? It's been twenty years, Victor, and I'm not a child. If you won't have an honest conversation with me, then you can just leave. I've had enough of this."

She moved to usher him away but he stood strong. "It ain't a lie!" He insisted. "I was doin' it fer you. It was all fer you."

She didn't seem to believe him. Her face still showed anger, suspicion and disbelief. She jutted out her hip and crossed her arms. "Tell me how." Her voice was as commanding as it ever was as she challenged her ex-lover.

"I'm an animal, Sage. I've always bin' an animal an' I always will be. I was mad about you, Sage an' that's why I did it. The more I saw you, the more I wanted somethin' nice fer yer life. I couldn't give you that. You should've had some nice, boring white collared husband with three kids an' a white picket fence. Not... not this. Not a life with figthin' an' conflict. You deserve more than that."

For a long time, Sage was quiet. Her thumb touched her lips as her eyes glazed over with departure of her attention. Her thoughts went far away. She licked her lips as she looked back to him. "But you didn't think that I deserved to be happy?"

Victor was at a loss for words. "I, uh..."

"I'm not married, I'm not engaged and I'm not seeing someone. I tried once or twice but it never worked out. I chose you, Victor, you; not some boring white collared office worker. I knew what I'd have to deal with when we started a relationship. I accepted that." She shook her head in wonderment. "What you did, was...unexpected and unnecessary."

"I was tryin' to protect you." He replied with a slight hint of defensiveness.

She nodded and tried to hide the slight smile. "And in your own way, it's almost...sweet. I never thought I'd see the day when the ferocious feral mutant would be so romantic."

Victor scoffed and crossed his arms. "I was lookin' out fer myself, that's all. Nothin' more to it." He told her, falling back into his old, gruff ways. She didn't seem too perturbed.

"Of course." Sage agreed with a smile.

They were both quiet for a moment. It wasn't uncomfortable, and that was good, but he would have liked to catch up with her.

"So what happens now?" He asked.

"What do you mean?" Sage asked.

Victor swallowed. "You know; with us. What happens with us?"

Sage gave a very slow nod. "You mean now that we've made up all nice and happy?" Victor nodded. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. Victor, our relationship was twenty years ago."

He shrugged. "But nothin's changed. I still feel...you know, I still feel the same."

"It wouldn't matter if we were perfectly in love and had never broken up. This isn't the right time; not with David Hewitt, not with everything that's going on."

Victor grudgingly agreed with her. "Yeah, yer right. I jus' want you to do one thing fer me, Sage."

"What is it?"

He took a step forward, lowering his voice. "Jus' when this whole war explodes; don't start fightin'. It ain't yer responsibility."

"I'm a big girl, Victor." Sage laughed, "Besides, I'm not so delicate that I can't deal with a little chaos every now and then."

Victor rolled his eyes. "Yeah yeah, yer still just a frail though, so look after yerself because I ain't gonna have the time to do it fer you. I've got Jimmy to protect now too, you know."

"And the infamous Logan of the X-men couldn't possibly look after himself." Sage noted.

"Damn right. That kid's got trouble attracted to him like a fly to a horse."

Sage gave a melodramatic sigh. "Oh, very well then." She conceded. "Now you should go; I have work to do and I suspect you do too."

"See ya around." Victor gave a mock salute and walked over to the door. He unlatched it and opened it.

"Victor." Sage said.

He looked over his shoulder at her.

"I'm glad you've got your brother back."

"Thanks." He said before leaving and heading back to his room.

* * *

David Hewitt looked at his watch. It was eleven thirty on the dot. The door opened and the members from the X-men, the UML and the MPC came inside. He looked up expectantly as they all sat down.

"Well, should I assume you have my answer?" He asked, looking around at every single person at table.

"We do." James Davis said softly. He didn't look overly pleased but they all understood how important this was for them, for the mutants and for the whole world.

"Well?" Hewitt said, trying to prompt the answer from anyone.

It was Storm who spoke. "We're in." She said, damning them all to whatever future lay ahead.

* * *

**Okay that's it for another few weeks; my bet would be about five. ****I know not much happened in this chapter but I hope you enjoyed it.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Well, here I am again, posting the next chapter right on time—though at a push. I just want to say a few quick words, first of all, I want to thank everyone for their support on this story, it's really given me the inspiration to continue writing this. **

**Secondly, Marie is in this chapter a lot and I'm trying to get her accent right so a lot of her dialogue is going to be spelt phonetically. I'd really appreciate some feedback on how effective—or ineffective—my attempt is at conveying her accent. Also, if it's hard to understand I can always repost this chapter so just tell me how it seems.**

**Okay that's all, enjoy the chapter**

**--**

James Davis left the office of Ororo Monroe with a grim expression on his face. His shoulders were slumped in defeat and there was an air about him that just screamed despair. Victor watched him coldly as he left. He wondered what the leader of the UML had been doing there at all. There had been no meetings scheduled for this week, Victor knew, as he had planned on being out of town when they happened. Still, munching on the apple he had stolen from the kitchen, he mused on what a visit from one of the world's most famous mutants could mean. Nothing concerning mutant aggression had come up on the news last night, so it couldn't have been too bad, but Davis looked like Storm had threatened to set killer bees on him after being doused in pollen.

This thought left Victor with two choices; either go to Storm and ask her himself, or go to Jimmy and bug him to see if he had any information. Since Victor only dealt with Storm on necessity, he decided to seek out his little brother.

Victor climbed the stairs after stuffing the half eating apple into a potted plant.

Walking through the X-men manor was a strange experience for Victor. It was like the twilight zone almost, with kids everywhere doing weird things like disappearing through walls or climbing on them. Victor had never wanted kids. They were loud and annoying and they were always sticky for some reason. He had been a kid once, and that was enough for him. Any other encounters with premature adults were, for him, unpleasant and unnecessary.

Victor travelled up to Jimmy's room and stopped a few feet away from the door, listening to the angry voice of what he recognised to be the girl, Marie, that had been so annoyed upon learning of his new lodgings.

Jimmy had been slinking around the mansion for the last six months, with his back to the walls and peeking around corners before he moved. Victor wasn't sure why that girl had such a profound effect on his brother, but she clearly had cornered him and from the sounds of things, he wasn't all that happy about it.

Curiosity piqued, Victor pressed himself up against the wall and listened to the voices inside.

--

"An' another thing, Logan," Marie was saying heatedly inside Logan's bedroom, "Wah should we jus' roll over an' make nice with that demon? He trahed ta kill me, Logan, wah don't yah get that?"

Logan's reply was frustrated. "I get it, Marie, but he ain't some mindless killer that can't control himself. Not anymore." He sat uneasily on the bed and watched the young woman in front of him pace restlessly, lost in her anger and pain. She looked at Logan like a traitor, as if his lineage changed who he was and as if his acceptance of his newfound brother was a disloyalty to his and her relationship.

"Ah don't care. Ah hate 'im, Logan. Ah want ta kill 'im. Don't cha get that?" She shook her head as she spoke, as if she couldn't believe she actually had to explain herself.

Logan growled suddenly as he shot to his feet. "Now listen 'ere, Marie," Logan warned, pointing his finger at her, "He's my brother an' I'd defend him any day, but if you attack him... Marie, I can't stress enough; ya won't win. An' I can't spend all day watchin' you to make sure yer not doin' anythin' stupid. Tell me I'm wrong, Marie, tell me yer not stupid enough ta go after him."

Marie's face was dark as she all but snarled at Logan. "Ah ain't stupid enough ta go after 'im, Logan. Not empty handed anyway."

"Don't be an idiot, Marie, he ain't a threat to you and ya certainly aren't gonna be able to beat him. Maybe if you had yer powers—_maybe_—but ya don't, an' that's the way it is, right? Jus' give it up, Marie, I care fer you, an' I don't wanna see you get hurt. Please, I'm beggin' you; let it go, don't mess everythin' up."

"An' wah would ah listen to yah? Yer with him, ain't yah? Yah don' care 'bout me, yah got yer brother now, yah don' need me. "

"Stop actin' like a jealous kid, Marie, yer too old fer that. Listen, Victor ain't goin' anywhere and ya better get used ta that. Now, if it were anyone else, I'd demand that you go ta him and make nice, but hell, Marie, I just want a little peace."

Marie's sour expression turned sad as she let out a single sob. "Bobby believes me. He knows Ah ain't actin'."

Logan crossed his arms and looked away. "I don't know what you want me to say, Marie." He muttered.

"Ah don't want yah ta say anythin', Logan, Ah want yah to listen ta me!" She cried in fury. She gazed at Logan intensely, wondering if she was getting through to him. But Logan did not react, he did not move, nor did he make eye contact. He just cleared his throat and stubbornly refused to address her.

"Arghh!" Marie yelled in frustration, throwing her hands up in the air. "Fine, Ah'll deal with this mahself." She growled as she rushed out of the room.

"Marie!" Logan called out after her, worried that she would actually try something. He saw Marie freeze just outside the door.

"Heya, sweetheart." The mocking voice of Victor Creed greeted unashamedly.

Marie's lip curled in disgust. "Go ta hell." She snarled as she rushed down the corridor.

Logan sighed tiredly, watching wearily as Victor appeared in the doorway, smirking lazily.

"Somethin' tells me she doesn't like me."

Logan groaned. "Yeah, and you aggravatin' her like that ain't makin' it any better."

Victor shrugged, unperturbed. "Eh, what are you gonna do?"

Giving his brother a pointed look, Logan told him exactly what was going to happen. "Yer gonna stop tryin' to get a rise out of her, that's what."

"Yeah, sure I am." Victor scoffed, knowing he wouldn't.

"You _are_ Victor."

"Oh yeah, and why's that?"Victor challenged blatantly, crossing his arms and rising up to his full height.

Logan almost looked smug. "Cause yer my brother and Marie means a lot to me and I just _know_ that you'd want me to be happy."

Victor's eyes narrowed. His disliked that option immensely. Who the hell was Jimmy to tell him what he wanted? Still, Jimmy had a point; he didn't want his brother in a huff. Reluctantly, he gave a nod.

Logan broke out in a grin as he watched his brother give his unwilling support. "Thanks Victor." He said.

Victor huffed agitatedly. "Yeah, sure."

"Anyway," Logan said, "What did you want?"

Nodding, Victor returned to the reason for his arrival. "James Davis was 'ere. I was wonderin' if you knew anythin' about it."

Logan frowned. "James Davis?" He asked, "I can't figure why he'd be here. He ain't got a meetin' or anythin'. D'you ask Storm?"

Shaking his head, Victor told his brother that he had not. "Thought it'd be better to ask you first rather than the Ice Queen herself."

Logan crossed his arms, ignored the jibe at Storm, and worked on trying to figure out the unexpected presence of James Davis. Eventually, he shrugged. "Guess we'll just have to ask Storm."

Victor gave a loud, melodramatic sigh as he agreed to follow his brother downstairs.

--

"There was trouble in the city last night. A group of mutants grabbed guns and fired them in an arcade. They injured over twenty people and killed two. There's been anger—a lot of anger. Hewitt is trying to calm down the mobs but Davis doesn't seem to think it'll work. That's why he was here; he wanted to see if we could do anything about it." Storm explained.

"And can we?" Victor asked.

Storm clicked her tongue. "I'm not sure. As much as I'd like to say we're prepared for this sort of thing, the truth is; we're not. I spoke to the MPC and they recommend we play it by ear, but I'm not sure if that would be the best idea; if we were to do that, by the time we act it may be too late."

"I think it's a damn good idea." Victor said haughtily. He would have defended Sage's word even if she had suggested they agree to be sent out to space.

Logan scoffed, "Yeah, right. Jus' because ya fancy the ass off o' Sage."

Victor growled and punched his brother in the arm—hard. "Shut up. You don't know what yer sayin'."

Logan gave a hearty chuckle and didn't even bother trying to hide his lopsided grin, greatly amused by Victor's sensitive subject. Storm cleared her throat, looking at the two feral mutants with a raised brow.

"Finished?" She asked.

Logan coughed and hid his grin. Victor was still scowling; his face didn't change as he turned his gaze to Storm. "Sorry." Logan muttered.

Storm nodded and continued. "Hank seems to think we should make a public statement and assure people that nothing like this will ever happen again."

"Trouble is," Logan said, "We can't make that promise. People are people, man or mutant. We can't take responsibility fer what an individual does or doesn't do."

"Exactly." Storm agreed.

Victor crossed his arms and mused upon the possibilities. "Maybe that's what you should tell 'em."

"That we can't do the job that was assigned to us?" Storm asked, her voice going up an octave.

Quickly shaking his head, Victor explained himself. "No. Not that we can't do the job, that we don't have the job. The collaring levelled the playin' field. We ain't dealin' with mutants and humans; it's more like humans and humans now. Maybe if we go at it like that. Maybe then it would be alright. I mean, groups o' normal humans go around all the time, killin' people and stuff. This should be up to the justice system to deal with; as if the mutants were nothin' more than normal people. With the collarin' an' all, it ain't like any mutant could break out o' prison."

Storm licked her lip before she spoke. "It could work."She said slowly. She drummed her fingers on the wood of the desk as she thought. "Yes, that's definitely an option."

Logan agreed. "Yeah an' besides, it'd show people that mutants don't need to be dealt with in an extreme way either."

Storm rubbed her forehead. "This can either go very well or very poorly. The public's reaction to this statement could change everything—for better or worse."

"What's the worst that could happen?" Victor asked with a shrug.

Storm's eyes looked intense as she gazed at him. "People could say that mutants are too aggressive to be let out. People might say that mutants would be targeted in jail. People might even say that we're trying to go easy on mutant criminals. Any one of these situations could plant an idea in people's heads. It doesn't take much for a crowd to turn on a speaker, even the slightest thing could set off an explosion."

"Yeah," Logan agreed, "But then, what would be the consequences of not takin' any action at all?"

Taking a fortifying breath, Storm closed her eyes. "That's the problem." She said quietly. She then added, "I wish Charles was here."

"What are you goin' to do?" Logan asked in a voice that was softer than usual.

"I'm going to make a few calls. I can't just make a statement without the support of the other groups or of David Hewitt. If they agree to it, then we will go ahead with it. To be honest, I think it's the best option we have...but then, who knows?"

"We'll leave ya to make yer calls then." Logan told her, starting to move out of the office, knowing that Victor wasn't far behind.

"Thank you for your help," Storm called after them, "both of you."

--

Victor was rooting through the fridge, looking for the bar of chocolate he had hidden. "I swear to God," He was muttering, "I'm gonna kill whoever was so goddamned stupid to take my food."

"Uh-huh." Logan agreed absent-mindedly, looking out of the kitchen window at three of the kids playing ultimate Frisbee.

"Damn kids." Victor snarled, shoving the fridge door closed with a loud bang that rocked the giant kitchen appliance. He stamped over to a chair, hauled it out and plopped down on it without any gracefulness. Moodily, he glanced at Logan. "Look at you with yer stupid cup o' tea standin' at the window like some sort o'... housewife, or somethin'."

Logan turned and raised his brow. "Housewife?" He asked. What kind of insult was that? He sat down at the table, unperturbed by his brother's poorly attempted insults. They sat in relative quiet until three young children dashed into the room, shouting and giggling as they scrambled around the worktops and the table.

"Watch it!" Victor barked moodily as one of them banged into the table and ricocheted away in a fit of delirious screeching.

"Hold it." Logan said in a firm, but less hostile voice. Immediately, the kids stopped what they were doing and stood side by side to look at him with curious eyes. "Slow down; you'll hurt yerselves and ruin the place while yer at it. Take it outside." He told the kids, "Slowly." He added when they looked like they were going to rush off again.

"Sure thing, Logan." They chirped happily in perfect synchronisation as they turned and darted out of the room, running and giggling as if they had never stopped.

Logan shook his head with a tiny smile of amusement.

Victor looked disgusted. "Damn Jimmy," He said in bemusement, "Are you gettin' clucky or what?"

Logan shrugged with nonchalance. "Ya get used to 'em."

"Nah-ah, not me." Victor denied, shaking his head vehemently, "I could never get used to those screechin' dwarves. Ain't natural to have them all hyper an' runnin' around the place all o' the time. They should all jus' sit in a corner or somethin'. I tell ya, society's fallin' apart when the kids are the ones runnin' the place."

Logan watched as Victor crossed his arms in hostility and glared at the wall in front of him. "The kids don't run this place, Victor."

Victor gave a disbelieving huff. "Yeah right. They sure got you rollin' over ta play fetch with 'em."

Logan frowned. "It ain't like that, Victor. I'm fond o' the kids 'ere, that's all."

"Yeah well, fond or not, you should tell 'em to stay outta my way." He grumbled.

"It ain't usually this crowded," Logan admitted, "Usually there's more space."

It was true that there had been a huge rise in people coming to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters since the collaring had been brought in. Logan would have liked to think it was because of their superb facilities and school ethos but he wasn't so naive; he knew it was because X-men could keep their powers. They had to be careful who they let in now. They couldn't have complete psychopaths going around lighting up the city or creating vortexes across the country. They had a name to uphold and it was vital that they kept people on their side. Having said that, many parents also sent their mutant children there hoping that if they will learn to control their abilities in a productive way that would help them accept themselves and their mutation.

The advantage of having so many people apply meant that occasionally they came across teachers who were sorely needed for the children and were more than happy to work for little pay and accommodation if it meant they could be free of the collar.

The collar.

Even though Hewitt had changed the name to something more politically correct, the original term had stuck. And some people—mutants and humans alike—hated that the X-men, the UML and the MPC could walk around without them. Whether out of jealousy or fear, the fact remained that for the most part, the three mutant groups were loathed.

Generally people decided whether they wanted to be with the X-men or against them, and they acted accordingly; something that worried every single member of the X-men. Storm spoke about these fears in her weaker moments, admitting that the split in the support could not have a good outcome.

Victor, who had prophesied war, spoke only once more about it saying to Logan one starless night; "Time's marchin' on, little brother, an' the front line is a callin'." He hadn't said anything else before or since that night, but occasionally Victor would catch his eye in a meaningful way and immediately Logan knew what his brother was trying to communicate. They were taking steps every day, coming closer and closer. Soon their noses would be butting up against the barrel of the enemy's guns. And then what would happen? More nightmares, more killing, more death?

Of course there would be.

And Logan would be back where he always found himself; alone in a field of dead bodies with only his brother to keep him from drowning. Logan wasn't sure he wanted that kind of dependence anymore. He had changed; he wasn't Jimmy anymore, not to the world, only to Victor. Even though he had gotten his memory back, he hadn't been haunted like he was in the old days. It was almost as if his amnesia was his penance and he had paid his due. Could he face an eternity of sleepless nights? He wasn't sure he was strong enough—not anymore. Not when he knew the alternative; sitting in a kitchen, drinking tea with his brother, talking about kids who were misbehaving.

Maybe ten years ago he wouldn't have cared. Hell, he might have even relished it. But now? Now, he felt useless. Now he felt the cowardly pacifists he and Victor used to look down on and laugh about, convinced they just didn't want to get their hands dirty. Now where could he go?

Neither Victor nor Logan were animals, he knew. But they had always been told that they were and they believed it, acting accordingly. Now though, now this animal had lost his appetite for blood. What was worse, he had lost the taste for it in a time when War was ripening on the tree of chaos and was just about to fall straight into his lap.

What was a mutant to do?

"Aw Jesus, Jimmy." Victor's exasperated voice snapped him out of his thoughts, "Stop thinkin' so hard, yer givin' me a headache jus' watchin' ya."

"Sorry." Logan mumbled with embarrassment. He was never sure if Victor could tell when his thoughts turned sour or not, but he always seemed to be able to snap Logan out of the melancholy spiral of thought that he so often found himself lapsing into.

He may not want to become dependent on his brother again, but Logan figured that perhaps there were worse things that could happen.

Time always marches forward and the War drums were getting louder. There was an awful feeling of 'approaching' in the air and the stale taste they could only sense on an instinctive level foretold a great many trials. Putting his cup down onto the table, Logan looked at his hands; they were clean of blood. He released his claws and studied them thoughtfully. They too, were glistening without a mark. He didn't want to go back to a life where his hands were covered in blood no matter what he did. He had relished the freedom he had gotten when he lost his memories. But he was a mutant, an X-man, a Howlett. It was his duty to protect those he cared about and he'd be damned if he didn't.

Victor watched him with an understanding that only came from knowing someone for years. "You think this one's goin' to be any different, Jimmy?" He asked, meaning the war.

"Doubt it." Was the gruff reply that had been on the tip of his tongue and made him respond before he knew he had answered. "Just the usual; a lot o' killin', a lot o' death."

"A lot o' blood." Victor said solemnly with a nod of his head.

They always went through a pattern of conversation before they went into battle. They were so used to the interaction that it came as naturally to them as breathing or bickering. But this time was different. There was no joy on Victor's face as he thought about the bloodied battlefield, and there was certainly none of that bored indifference on Logan's. For the first time in their lives, War was not some political beast used to cull the numbers of humanity, for the first time, war was personal.

And that was scary as hell.

Logan shook his head. It was about time he got his appetite back; from the looks of things, he was going to need it.

--

David Hewitt sighed as he rubbed his face tiredly and downed the remaining coffee from his cup. He looked at the digital clock on his desk that blinked too brightly at his tired eyes, telling him it was two in the morning. This whole situation had been a mess; things were going so well and then some punk kids just had to go out and shoot in some public place. He had to deal with all sorts of crap all day from a whole range of people; his superiors, his inferiors, people on the streets, people from the streets that broke into his office, politicians, parents, paparazzi and police.

He wasn't a bad man, he was trying to help. But each person he spoke to today was screaming abuse at him, blaming him for the world's social problems because he was stupid enough to take a moderate approach to an extreme situation. The only person who had not been the biggest pain in his side the whole day was Storm of the X-men. He admired and respected that woman greatly and more than once he found himself wishing that she was not a mutant or he was not a human so that they could meet in a situation where she wouldn't hate his guts. Of course, wishful thinking meant nothing, Hewitt knew that well, he _was_ still in his office at two in the morning after all. Still, whether she liked him or not was irrelevant; they were working together to make the world a better place and he was pleased to find that she was as level-headed and as sensible as her reputation claimed.

The call he received from her today had been a breath of fresh air. She had kept it short—probably because she didn't want to talk to him for longer than necessary—and had provided him with a simple, effective and brilliant suggestion as a course of action. He had wanted to make that statement then and there, but, as Storm herself mentioned, they would have to be careful. The statement would be picked apart to the smallest detail. This was not something he could throw together in twenty minutes; he needed time, two ghost writers, and a perfectly thought-out speech with all aspects taken into consideration.

He looked down at the sheet of paper on his desk. His gold fountain pen lay diagonally on top of the words he had written. There weren't many, only eight words—not even a complete sentence.

_I stand before you today to discuss a..._

He was stuck. What did he want to discuss? A proposition? An apology? A what? He didn't even know himself. With a sigh, Hewitt realised that he was in no state to write even a post-it note to his secretary, let alone a speech that could change the course of history.

He looked over to the picture frame on his desk. The picture was of three people; him, his wife and his son. He picked up the frame and gently thumbed the glass covering the image. The hollow feeling in his chest hadn't gone away since the incident that caused his family's deaths. The pain wouldn't go away, no matter what he did. In the end, for all the good this whole thing might bring, it wouldn't change the past. It didn't change the present either. He was alone in his office late at night; something that had become the metaphor for his life.

There was a time when he had hated them, the mutants. Only a few years ago he would have gladly let them go to war. He would have signed up to go to the front lines and take down as many of them as he possibly could. There wasn't a word strong enough to describe the animosity he felt towards the mutant race.

Now though, now he was different. He had changed. Somehow, throughout the years, his anger had faded and he became tired. Too tired to feel anger or hate. Only tiredness and a terrible despair that had lodged itself in his stomach.

With that melancholy thought, Hewitt turned on his leather swivel chair and went over to the cabinet behind him. He poured himself a drink from his fake crystal decanter.

The sound of the door to his office slowly creaking open and then the soft click of it being shut, made David Hewitt falter—ever so slightly—for a moment. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning around to make eye contact with the person who had entered his office.

"Do you want a glass?" He asked the person standing by the door.

The man shook his head. "I never drink on the job." He said.

Hewitt nodded and absently mumbled. "A good practise..." He paused for a long time. "Are you here to kill me?" Although, while it sounded like a question, it really wasn't. He had been expecting this. It was long overdue.

The man nodded. "Sorry," He said without sincerity, "It's not personal. Just business." His dark eyes tried to convey pity, but they danced with a light that showed his excitement.

"You don't sound sorry." Hewitt said as he downed his drink in one gulp.

His assassin shrugged. "I enjoy my job, so sue me."

Hewitt sighed. "Maybe later." He replied in a deadpan voice, seating himself down in his chair. He watched numbly as the assassin grinned, amused at his joke.

"Say," Hewitt said softly, "There's no chance you could just..._not_ kill me, could you?"

Looking slightly disappointed, the assassin shook his head, "What do you think?"

David Hewitt groaned as he thought of the implications of his death. "There'll be war. You couldn't possibly wait a few days?"

"Why do you think I was sent to kill you?" The assassin asked with interest.

Hewitt thought about it and suddenly, what was cloudy to him before became clear. "Oh god," He muttered, "They _want_ war."

The assassin grinned. "Bingo." He said, snapping his fingers, "War's good for business."

"It's all business, always business." David Hewitt sighed, rubbing his temples.

Unperturbed, the assassin agreed with him. "Money makes the world go 'round mister."

He blinked. "What about love, hope, happiness, freedom. What about our ideals, or our thoughts and dreams. What about them?"

The assassin clicked his tongue. "I wouldn't know about any of that. I'd save them for the movies to be honest, they don't exist here."

"I feel sorry for you."

The assassin shrugged as he took out a gun and twisted a silencer onto the top of it. "You know," He said conversationally, "People always say they pity me. But the way I see it; I'm the one holding the gun and you're the one with the barrel pointed at you. My life's not too bad."

Sadly, Hewitt nodded. "You might be right."

The assassin held up his gun and aimed it at David Hewitt with a steady hand. "You might want to close your eyes." He told the man in the chair.

Scowling, Hewitt spit, "Why? Because it's easier on you?"

"No," The man denied with a shake of his head, "Because it's easier on you. Trust me mister, to me, you're already dead, you were dead the moment I got that call this morning. This," He waved the gun around the room, "Is just the particulars."

Hewitt reached over and turned the picture of his family so that it was face down on the table. "Go on then, I'm a busy man, I can't just wait around all day." Hewitt leaned back on his chair and closed his eyes. In many ways, it was a relief. No more struggling, no more fighting, no more nothing. He could be with his family again. It was okay. He didn't mind this.

"See you around, mister." The assassin whispered as he pulled the trigger and fired three shots from his gun. Hewitt's body jerked three times and slumped in the chair with three wounds, twice in the heart and once in the head.

The assassin took his time unscrewing the silencer and putting it into the long pocket in the inside of his coat. He then took out his phone and flipped it open.

"It's done." He told the person on the other end of the line, "Have the money wired to my account."

"_Make sure to set the scene perfectly; I don't want anyone to suspect this isn't legitimate. They need to think the mutants have done this."_ The voice on the other end warned the assassin.

"Of course." The assassin said, ending the call and putting the phone away. "He thinks I'm some sort of amateur." The assassin scoffed, speaking to dead David Hewitt. "I swear; if the pay wasn't so damn good... Well, let's make you a victim; you're not the only busy person in this city."

--

They both knew that the War was coming.

They could sense it in the air, the water—and the news channels. Every day they had figured it was another day closer to the battle. But they were wrong about one thing; they thought they'd have time to prepare. Logan and Victor were arguing about something inconsequential when Storm called all of the main X-men into the sitting room for a meeting. She told them the news.

David Hewitt was dead.

His secretary had found him in his office that morning, shot three times in the chest. The police had done an investigation, the FBI was brought in, and the main theory was of course, that it was a brutal murder by a brutal mutant. How else could someone get into a locked office without forcing the lock, get out of the building without being seen by the many cameras and commit the crime without leaving any evidence? Mutants were the only plausible answer.

After Storm had finished, they had sat in the room, each one wondering what was going to happen. Slowly, one by one, the X-men dispersed from the room until only Victor and Logan were left in the dying sun of the twilight.

"You ready fer this, little brother?" Victor asked with a long sideways glance.

Logan huffed, "Ready or not, it's already here. I don't got a lot of choice about this either way."

Victor rubbed his neck uncomfortably, "Well, if ya want...I s'pose you could always run away."

"What the hell, Victor? I ain't gonna run away. Why'd ya think I'd do that?"

"No reason," Victor said quickly, throwing his up hands, "Jus' givin' you some options, that's all. Nothin' more than that."

Logan looked distrustful, but shook his head. "I ain't never runnin' away. Some things are worth sacrificin' for what you care about."

"Yeah well, martyr or not, I'm gonna see what favours we can call in. C'mon."

They, being the last out of the sitting room turned the lights out when they left.

The next morning, the War had arrived on their doorstep.

--

**Well that's it for another unknown amount of time. The amount of red squiggly lines in this chapter did my head in. Writing accents is ridiculously annoying. Not to worry though, anyway, I hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Well, here we are, I've managed to churn another one of these out, which is great. I really enjoyed writing this one, hence why I wrote it so quickly—also because it's quite short. Anyway, thanks for your continued support and to everyone who reviewed.**

**--**

The ground shook with the force of an unknown source.

Logan sprinted through the desolate, deserted, decaying streets, hiding in the shadows of the ruins that were once people's homes and workplaces. The city had long since been abandoned by humans and now it was mostly mutants who lived there, running around like rats in the sewers. They were to be preyed upon by the weapons of mass mutant destruction that were unleashed onto the streets a few months ago. The first prototype for true Artificial Intelligence and they were using it to kill. How perfectly human.

The ominous rumbling of the ground underfoot made Logan slow down and hide himself as completely as he could in the shadows. He sheathed his claws, so that the adamantium wouldn't catch the light and alert anything to his presence. He felt the ground shake more with the approach of whatever super weapon was now heading in his direction.

_Thump, thump, thump_

They were like footsteps, the steady rhythm, and Logan thought he might know what it was.

"Damn..." He muttered softly, tightening his grip on the duffel bag he was carrying. He looked out of the alleyway he was hiding in and threw himself against the wall, pressing into it as far as he could manage. The cold surface sent chills into his spine but he ignored it. He saw the first signs of the heavy flood lamps that the weapons used to find mutants at night. Maybe the damn thing would just go away? No, probably not.

Still it never hurt to hope, no matter how pointless it was. Logan closed his eyes and rubbed his face. It was supposed to be an easy run, in and out of some old warehouse for food—that was all. He should have been back with the rest of them by now. Instead, he was running around the streets fighting his way through weapons and machines. It had been a trap, the warehouse. Yeah there had been food, lots of it, but there had also been a trip wire that activated three huge tank-like machines that kept shooting at him. He was hit by their over-sized ammunition more than once. His body was still shaking slightly from the effort it took to take them all out with a gaping wound in his chest cavity.

At least he got the food. That was something he supposed. Now all he had to do was get back.

The street outside his hiding place lit up with a bright search lamp. It move across the mess of the ground furiously with a red tint that told Logan this machine was none other than his most hated adversary, the P-NX29 Mark II. It was known more commonly as the Panther because of its appearance. It was a machine, but it had four legs, was lithe and flexible and deadly. It resembled a panther too; the designers even had it produced with a tail for balance and to sense minute vibrations in the ground. The motion sensor in its tail meant that if Logan moved while it was on, the Panther would be on him in seconds with adamantium claws and the guns on its 'shoulders' blazing.

Logan hated the Panther for all the reasons above, but for him, the worst thing about it was its speed. The damn thing was faster than he would have believed possible had he not seen it himself.

It was freaky.

Giant air-compressed cylinders for legs made it so the Panther could push itself off of the ground, leap and run better than anything made before.

Logan watched as the Panther's head, as big as Logan himself, appeared around the corner, looking in front of itself as opposed to the side where a certain feral mutant was waiting with a heaving chest. Logan hoped that it wouldn't turn around and see him, the Panther was tough; it wasn't like a living opponent, it didn't tire or fear its opponent and it didn't change its mind once it started attacking.

Logan could hear the wheezing of its mainframe as it scanned the area, discarding any information it didn't need to keep. It would continue searching the city until it found its prey. Suddenly, the Panther's head twitched and swivelled on its hinges. The lights suddenly flared and turned red as it saw Logan and classified him as a mutant. It gave a high pitched screech and pounced.

Logan barely scrambled out of the way of the huge claws that smashed the wall where he once stood. He spun on his heel from his position of evasion and snarled at the mechanical beast. He unsheathed his claws and bared his teeth.

"C'mon!" He challenged the machine, "Try it, I dare ya."

Did the Panther react to his taunt? Not at all—but it reacted to him. It pounced again, this time catching his leg as he moved out of the way. Logan yowled in pain as he fell to the ground with a thud. He twisted his body around and slashed out at the machine, tearing the metal away like it was putty. The deep wounds made sparks as electrical impulses tried to jump the gap between wiring. Moving his legs, Logan pushed himself away and he swiped again at an oncoming appendage. There were more sparks, more chunks of metal flying to the side. The leg was half hanging off by the time he scarpered away.

The panther put weight on its leg but fell and hit its head off of the ground. Logan lunged at the creature with his claws in front of him. He landed on the machine's back and dug the adamantium deep, keeping himself close as it reared back in malfunction. He pulled one hand out of the machine and lodged it under the head, followed by the other. Logan pulled his feet under his body and grabbed the head while simultaneously dodging the one good appendage and enduring the tail that kept hitting his back and head, making his skull shake and teeth chatter.

Using all of his might, Logan heaved the head off the artificial shoulders, tearing the hardware on the inside. He growled with the effort of the task and gnashed his teeth in triumph as it came away in his hands. The machine screeched as it slowly ceased to work. It fell to the ground with a thud and Logan hoped off of its back easily. Looking at what he had done, Logan decided to not leave it in a salvageable state. He completely destroyed it so that it could never be put back together. Those things weren't cheap to make and what with the War going on so long, the government couldn't afford to keep making them surely?

Logan huffed and looked down at his leg, it was fully healed now, but his jeans were shredded and encrusted with blood. Damn.

He grabbed the discarded duffle bag and continued on his way back home, wishing that he would meet nothing else that tried to kill him.

He doubted that he'd be that lucky though.

--

The War had started sooner than anyone had expected. It arrived at their doorstep the day after David Hewitt was found in his office. People had come out to the Xavier manor to protest. The protest lasted a day and a half before someone brought a gun and started firing.

After that, it was a whirl of events which happened so fast that it was hard to decipher what exactly, was going on.

They barely knew what was taking place when the army invaded the manor and tried to round them all up. They never would have made it out—never would have even had a chance—if it hadn't been for the most unlikely person; Victor Creed. No one had ever expected much from him; he was accepted into the manor because Logan was there and he had vouched for him. They were a package deal, Logan and Victor, Victor and Logan; they couldn't have one without the other. Yet Victor had saved the day. When he heard the news about David Hewitt, he immediately called in a few favours and got some 'old friends' to help him out. By that night, most of the children of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters had been moved to a location somewhere in the Pacific where they would be safe.

Victor had, apparently, more friends than he let on because by the time they had gotten out they were met up with a group of mutants who transported them to a place where they could discuss their plan of action.

By the end of the week, they even had a following; a group of mutants who were going to fight with them. Before the War started, many of those people had hated them, they had fought against them, and they were ready to disown them. Afterwards, they held the X-men in the highest regard, looking to them like they would make everything better.

It took a few more weeks before the MPC and the UML found them. Things were bad in America, but worse in Europe they said. For some reason, there was a higher concentration of mutants in mainland Europe and there was a huge population of people who were trying to escape persecution. So they had been busy trying to save anyone they could overseas.

Storm, who had hoped for a peaceful negotiation, tried in vain to get the government to stop their aggression. It was too late—way too late. Eventually, even Storm concluded that Victor had been right; the humans were itching for a fight, and nothing anyone could do, would stop it. For a whole day, Storm went missing from the group. When she came back, her cheeks were streaked with dried tears and her eyes were puffy and red. Still, she held her head high and announced that it was time to fight back. Never before or since did she show her anguish to anyone, and from then on, she took her role as leader with unrivalled fortitude.

Even for Storm, whose strength was legendary, this was no small feat.

Life was hard and it didn't get easier. Every week, every day, there were tales of terrible things being done to mutants. They didn't even stand a chance, not with the collars in place. So one night Logan woke up to the sight of Storm standing over him.

"I have a mission for you," She had said, "But it will be dangerous."

Storm had stressed that he didn't have to do it, that she wouldn't hold it against him, that it was almost too dangerous—even for him. Storm told him that David Hewitt had given her the code to disarm the collars the day before his death. However, the device to do it was firmly locked in one of the city's best guarded vault. If they wanted it, they would need Hewitt. But Hewitt was dead and now they would be forced to break in to it. There was no hesitation when Logan promised to do it. He was planning on leaving their base camp that morning before anyone woke up. But before he could leave, Victor stirred and watched him with dark eyes.

"You ain't runnin' away, I hope." He said, "'cause that'd be mighty stupid, dontcha think?"

Logan quickly explained that he was going on a mission, that he would be back soon and that there was nothing to worry about. With a disbelieving scoff Victor started packing.

"You ain't goin' anywhere without me," Victor had told him, "I'm yer big brother, who else would look after you?"

And so, on that death defying mission, Logan's assignment became just that little bit easier. They returned to the camp one piece, though just barely. In the time they had been gone, not much had happened but everyone gathered around them as they handed the device over to Storm. After no more than a few seconds, the device had bleeped and collars all around the world fell off.

That day, the War had begun in earnest.

For the first time, mutants had the ability to fight back. Something that became both revolutionary and disastrous. The mutants started fighting out of hate and anger, they weren't co-ordinated, they hadn't a goal. It became the task of the UML and the MPC to travel around the world, trying to rescue or recruit everyone that they could. Meanwhile, the X-men stayed mostly in America and tried to run things as efficiently and effectively as possible. On other missions, they managed to salvage some gear from the now destroyed Xavier mansion and they found two young mutant twins in the ruins. They said they travelled from the south to find the X-men after being hunted for weeks. When they arrived, they found nothing but ruins, but, having no other course of action, they stayed there for days. It was then that the X-men came and took them away to their new HQ. These two mutants became very important to the War. Their mutation was a joint mutation; together, they could sense the exact location of every mutant alive. They were like an organic Cerebro, only not only could they find mutants, but they could contact them too. They told countless numbers that they should get to safety, find the UML and the MPC and the X-men. They let them know that they'd be alright, that there was a plan, that the mutants would not face annihilation. These were all things that could not be promised, but Storm figured that a inspiring lie was better than a desolate truth.

With the twins on their side, the X-men could contact different factions. For the first time, they were united, fighting towards a common goal. For the first time, they became deadly.

Battles became more intense as they changed into equal struggles as opposed to utter massacres. They lost battles still, but they won a lot also. After only two months of fighting, they had captured Massachusetts for mutants only. It became a safe haven for mutants to travel to and soon, it was almost as populated as it had been before the War.

Regularly, Storm made contact with the human government through Hologram, a mutant who could project anyone's image to anywhere in the world. She would repeat a question she had asked since the War began.

"Are you ready for peace yet?"

But they were not and their answer reflected that. Storm would walk away, disappointed, but unsurprised. It was not long after that, when the news on the television heralded disastrous news for the mutants. The government created a new policy to deal with 'the mutant threat'. It was called Project Wideawake. The X-men were silent for a long time after this news. Victor, not knowing what was going on, questioned loudly what the big deal was. Logan quickly took his brother to the side and told him;

"You weren't here, so you couldn't have known but try to keep it down, yeah?" Logan had demanded before explaining, "Project Wideawake was somethin' that the government were plannin' a few years ago now. It was in the very early stages when we heard about it and there was very little information on it, but Mystique caught a look at it when she was snoopin' around."

"Yeah, well what is it?" Victor had asked impatiently, crossing his arms in agitation.

Logan sighed, "It's a government funded massacre. It's legal slaughter."

"Of mutants?"

"Yeah, of mutants." Logan agreed, "We thought that with the peace agreement between mutants and humans, we had avoided it... But apparently not."

The grim atmosphere in the room didn't lift all afternoon, but that didn't stop them from preparing for the worst. They built walls, set up look-out posts, moved most of the mutants to the basements of buildings and with the help of those who were capable, they created an underground tunnel system. Using the tunnels, they could travel easily from place to place, a multiple of small networks. This became their most vital tool of survival when Project Wideawake was brought into action and the first machines, the Sentinels, started to roam the streets with the objective to kill.

More and more machines were sent in to the city in an attempt to get rid of the 'vermin' but they never succeeded. They were losses—occasionally, but they had made rules, they were careful and they never let young or inexperienced mutants outside unsupervised.

Life wasn't easy—it was damn hard; living on rations and always looking over their shoulders—it was damn hard. But they were alive, even four years after the War had started. That was an amazing feat in itself. The fact that they had thrived was mind-boggling. Logan couldn't help but feel scared; things were going so well, surely they must be well over-due for a disaster?

He hoped not, but then, who knew?

--

Logan sighed in relief, two more kilometres, three more battles and he was finally home. He turned the corner and hopped over the rubble and climbed down the steps that were once the way to the basement but were now the opening to one of the mutant's tunnels.

Logan travelled down and down until he made it inside to the inner areas of the tunnels. People still lived up in the actual buildings, but they weren't as safe there and Storm stressed that it was dangerous. It would only be a matter of time before something came crashing through their windows at night.

Still, they couldn't force anyone to do anything they didn't want to do.

"Took you long enough," Victor's voice broke through their thoughts, "What did ya do? Fall asleep?"

Logan glanced to the side, "They've upped the number o' machines. The whole damn city's crawlin' with 'em."

"You're gettin' old, grandpa, that's all." Victor scoffed lazily from his chair. His feet were up on a small footstool and he looked like he had been sleeping.

He had been waiting up for Logan—not that he'd ever admit it.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Victor." He said absently as he dropped the bag full of canned goods. "What were _you_ doin' all day?"

Victor shrugged, got up and rummaged through the produce that Logan had brought back. "Didn't do much." Victor admitted, "Is this all you got?"

"The warehouse ain't goin' anywhere," Logan grunted, "An' it's full o' food. But it was gettin' dark and I didn't want to worry anyone."

Victor grinned. "Ya think they'd care?" He asked with a barking laugh.

Raising a brow, Logan looked at his brother, "Shut up." He said.

Victor didn't stop looking amused as he threw down a can of sweet corn back onto the table.

"How's Storm doin'" Logan asked.

Victor shrugged. "She's tough, fer a broad, isn't she?"

Nodding, Logan agreed with him. "Yeah but this war is killin' her. I don't know how long she can keep it up. This goes against everythin' Chuck ever taught her. War is our territory, it ain't hers."

"It ain't a lot o' people's territory, Jimmy, there's a reason so many people die."

Logan opened his mouth to speak but just then, a door to the side opened and Storm appeared.

"Ah you're here, good. I wanted to have a word with you. Come in."

Storm led them into a sitting room, but there was no one in there so it would do for a private talk. Storm sat down on an old, well-used chair. She crossed her legs and waited for the two feral mutants to sit down. With half a glance towards each other, they seated themselves and waited for the head of the X-men to speak.

"I have reason to believe that David Hewitt's death was a set up."

Logan and Victor looked at each other. "What do you mean?" They asked in unison.

There was always something 'off' about the way that Hewitt died. I mean, they claimed that it was mutants, but there was no real proof; the doors _had_ been locked, and there was no evidence on camera but that just means that someone came prepared. We never found the mutant who supposedly killed Hewitt and maybe that's because he doesn't exist."

Logan scratched his chin. "Yeah, maybe..." He admitted, "But we don't have any proof. I mean conspiracy theories are all well an' good but there's no point in wastin' time over 'em."

"If we could prove that it was a set up, it would change everything. This whole war is based on David Hewitt's murder, if that murder was a set up..."

"Then the war would end." Victor finished.

Storm nodded, "Exactly."

"But we still need proof." Logan pointed out. Storm smiled at his statement, looking smug, like she knew something they didn't.

"I was in contact with Sage," Storm said with a smile, "She came across something on a computer from the Project Wideawake HQ."

"They actually left something damning on a computer?" Logan asked in surprise.

Storm shook her head. "Not exactly," She admitted, "But it's said that taxes are the most honest thing in any organisation."

"Taxes?"

"And expenses." Storm added, "We found there was a discrepancy with the numbers. On the night of Hewitt's murder, a huge sum of money—almost one million dollars—was transferred to a private account in Geneva. Sage is trying to trace the money as we speak, but she says it's almost impossible to trace with all the transfers and security locks that were put on it."

"If anyone can do it, Sage can." Victor said confidently.

"Whether she does or doesn't, we now have a place to start from, a starting point for the end of the war."

"You think they paid someone to kill him?" Logan asked.

"It makes sense, considering what we've seen." Storm said, "Money being transferred to a private account in Geneva rarely means legitimate business. Not to mention that they don't have the expense labelled as anything in particular."

"But what about motive?" Victor asked, "I mean, they wouldn't be doin' this fer the kicks, would they?"

"Project Wideawake is a governmentally funded operation. They only receive money for as long as they are needed. With the agreement with David Hewitt, they would not be needed. They would lose their funding and would be shut down. The UML said that with all the funding going towards Project Wideawake during the war, there would be a huge possibility for profit."

"You mean this is about money?" Logan growled.

Storm looked sad and angry. "Yes. It's all business. What's more, Hewitt mentioned something to me the day he died. He said there were people who were in opposition to him, powerful people."

"An' you think he meant the guys in Project Wideawake?"

"Yes."

"So what can we do about it?" Logan muttered mostly to himself.

"We need to find proper evidence. Something tangible."

Victor crossed his arms and scowled. "An' where do you suppose we find this 'tangible evidence'?"

Storm hesitated and Logan suddenly knew why. "You want to storm their HQ."

Storm looked almost guilty, but she nodded firmly. Logan knew from that look that Storm had made up her mind. Whether she had their support or not, Strom was going to make a move. Of course, there was no way Logan would allow Storm to do something like that on her own; she was too important to the world and to him as well. But he also knew that she needed this to be done. Even if they found nothing, even if it was a failure and there was no conspiracy, Storm needed this. She wouldn't be able to keep fighting otherwise.

"We'll go." Logan told her.

Storm seemed surprised. "No," She said, "I can't ask you that, it's dangerous and not to mention there's no guarantee we would find anything anyway. This is my responsibility, not yours."

"Don't be a complete dumbass." Victor snorted.

Storm looked vaguely insulted until Logan backed his brother up. "He's right, Storm. Yer too important to the X-men—to everyone. We'll go. You need to run things from here."

"I can't..."

"Yeah, you can. It's nothin'. Trust me Storm, we've bin in sticky situations before and we always came out smellin' o' daisies. We can handle it." Logan assured Storm.

Storm looked unsure, but she was definitely considering it. "You're sure?"

Both Logan and Victor nodded their heads. "O' course." Victor said.

"So where are we goin'? Europe? Asia?"

Shaking her head, Storm replied. "Not quite. There's no need to go that far."

"Then where?"

Storm quirked a smile. "Not far. Nevada."

"Nevada?" They asked simultaneously.

"Monument Valley. They have their main labs in one of the rocks there."

Victor thought for a moment. "We could do a lot more than jus' find some evidence; we could blow the whole thing sky high."

Storm wanted to say 'no'—Logan could tell. She wanted to say that it would be better for them to get in and out without any fuss or detection. And yet, she was having trouble. She was hesitating, because she felt exactly the same as they did. Eventually, she did the best she could in such a difficult situation.

"Do what you deem necessary." She said, looking towards Logan with a gaze that was full of meaning. She was asking him wordlessly to be responsible and to not get carried away in the delirium of getting the chance to destroy the hated Project Wideawake.

Login gave a barely visible nod. He would do what he needed to do. Storm could trust him.

She looked relieved. "Thank you." Storm smiled, "You're definitely in line for a medal after the war."

Victor looked unimpressed. "Make it two—and a large sum of money too. We aren't doin' this out of charity, you know."

His brother ignored him, "Can we borrow a car?" Logan asked.

"Of course." Storm said, standing up. "And don't worry; I won't expect to get it back. But please, Logan, keep in touch. We've already lost so many friends; I don't want to lose anyone else."

"Take it easy, we'll be fine." Logan assured her as he grabbed the car keys off of a table.

"Will you leave in the morning?"

Victor scoffed. "We're leavin' right now. Ain't no need fer sleepin'. We're gonna blow Wideawake sky high; ya can't put somethin' like that off. C'mon, little brother, it's time to raise some hell." Victor had left the room before anyone could object. Logan looked tired, like he might have appreciated to sleep in a bed for the night. Yet he didn't object. He just looked at Storm, shrugged and gave a fleeting smile.

"See ya." He said as he followed his brother out of the room and then the safety of the tunnel system. They would get into the car and they would drive non-stop until they made it to Monument Valley. Logan didn't know how long it was going to take for them to get there but one thing was certain; Victor could damn well drive himself because _he_ was sleeping.

--

**Well that's another chapter out of the way. I have no idea when I'm going to get another one done but I'll try post it as soon as I can. Thanks for reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

**This will probably be my last chapter for a while. I have exams in about seven weeks and I just can't spend the time I need to write another chapter. **

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Logan and Victor stood shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the huge red rock in front of them. They had made it to Monument Valley, located the labs and had walked straight up to it without any alarms, attacks or notice. Only when they got to the foot of the giant rock did they realise there was no front door. Victor had growled in frustration and kicked the hunk of stone, asking; "How the hell do we get inside?"

It was Logan who had looked up and saw the entrance. He pointed upwards and Victor's gaze followed his finger. That was what led them to that exact moment, looking up at the monument in front of them.

"Great," Victor muttered, "I s'pose we gotta climb that thing now."

"You got a better idea?" Logan asked gruffly, not looking forward to the work either.

Victor sighed, "Nah, I'm comin' up blank fer better ideas at the moment."

"Better get climbin' then, right?" Logan said as he unsheathed his claws and dug them into the hard surface of the rock. He started pulling his body up and lodged his other arm into the rock higher up. Victor watched him ascending for a few feet more before he sighed and followed his brother, wishing he had longer nails.

They climbed for ages, as they got higher the air got thinner and it became harder to breath. Logan stopped momentarily and looked up, blinking the sweat out of his eyes. He could see the entrance not too far up. That was good because he was exhausted and it was a small miracle that they hadn't been detected yet. Then again, maybe they had. It was possible that they were waiting for them up at the entrance. Still, it seemed unlikely that they had since he and Victor hadn't been used for target practise by some trigger happy guard.

"Hey Jimmy?" Victor's breathless voice said from a little further below.

"Yeah?"

"You think Storm was serious about those medals?"

If he wasn't concentrating so hard on keeping his body attached to the rock, Logan would have shrugged. "Dunno, doubt it. Why d'you care?"

"I don't." Victor denied, "Just wonderin'. It'd be kinda wierd after all this time gettin' a medal, is all."

"Yeah well, we might have got a few more medals if you didn't keep decapitating our superior officers." Logan replied.

Victor snickered at the memory, "And if you didn't keep goin' off after every battle to find somewhere to drink."

"I wasn't the only one, you were there too, Victor." Logan defended.

"Good times." Victor mumbled as he forced himself higher. In a way he really _did_ miss those days. It was nice just fighting without being afraid. They didn't have anyone counting on them but each other, they didn't care about the people involved or the ones that were causing the fights, and they could waltz in and out as they pleased. Now they were struggling for survival. On the road to Nevada they were stopped too many times to count. Even on the most remote country roads they had to be careful and the journey had taken twice as long as it should have because of people's suspicion. Seriously, it was worse than the Soviet Union under Stalin. At least in Russia a 'comrade' could pass through unharmed if they didn't draw attention to themselves. Now though, every car was checked, every person was tested—not that they had any way to do it, they just made a guess at it, gave a suspicious look and let them get on with their journey. There was one case where a small boy was pulled viciously out of a car in front of them with a gun pointed to his head. Logan and Victor intervened then and saved the boy, revealing themselves to be mutants. But they had escaped the angry mob easily and continued on with their journey without any other hiccups. It was still such a pain though, having to drive slow and carefully and swear their allegiance to the _Homo sapiens_. Not that it bothered Victor to lie; he'd been doing it for the majority of his life, but it was pain when he thought about how pointless the whole damn thing was.

"I wouldn't exactly call them good," Logan said, "but...they were better than this."

"Yeah tell me about it..."Victor muttered, "Talk about a downer. There ain't any fun this time."

Logan grunted, but whether it was in affirmation or effort was unclear.

They climbed in silence until Logan finally reached the metallic ledge of the opening. With a quick, cursory glance, Logan checked that the coast was clear and hoisted himself up and over the ledge. He reached down and held out his hand. Victor grabbed the offered appendage and allowed himself to be pulled up to the safety of a horizontal surface.

"Well this place sucks." Victor commented as he got to his feet and looked around.

Logan agreed wholeheartedly, but was too distracted by the scenery to answer.

It was a simple enough room, mostly a landing dock with a big 'H' on the ground that signified a helipad. The walls were made out of old and dirty steel. There were deep red barrels scattered in random patches around the area. It was quiet.

"You think they haven't noticed we're here?"

"Hard to say," Logan said quietly, "They don't seem to have noticed, but maybe that's what they want us to think."

Victor snorted in amusement. "Yer so paranoid."

It was a comment that couldn't be any more ill-timed as a door on the far side of the structure opened and suddenly a monstrous machine appeared before them, locking onto them immediately.

"Ah hell..." Victor muttered.

"Ya just had to open yer big mouth, didn't you?" Logan grunted as he moved into his signature defensive stance.

"What the hell is that thing?" Victor asked, mirroring his brother's movements.

Snarling, Logan answered "It's the 'Soon-To-Be-Dead-Mark IV'."

They shared a quick glance and grinned to each other before evading the sudden fire from the giant machine. They were now separated, but by no means weakened. They worked in perfect synchronisation as they sprinted forward, approaching the mechanic goliath with a snake-like speed, all the time easily dodging the huge rounds of ammunition it threw it at them. They reached their attacker in seconds, pushing themselves off of the ground the lunged at the machine and struck downwards in a perfectly timed pincer attack. The machine stumbled and fell under their constant attack and eventually gave up its futile struggle at shut itself down.

"That was easy." Victor commented as he looked down as his handiwork. "Think they would'a made a better welcome party, wouldn't you?"

Logan didn't have time to answer when three more of the same machine appeared before them and started attacking the second they located the two mutants.

Logan snarled. "Would you shut up?"He ground out at Victor as they tried attacking again.

They worked with the same tactics, although this time, it wasn't quite so graceful or well executed. They could no longer dodge all the rounds of heavy artillery so they were sporting giant, gaping wounds and burns as they surveyed the scrap pile of mangled metal in front of them.

"Well that wasn't—"

"—Not a word." Logan warned, seeing that Victor was about to tempt fate again.

Victor held up his hands and shook his head. "Nope, wasn't goin' to say anythin'."

"Yeah, keep it that way. C'mon, now that they know we're here, it ain't goin' to get any easier, and I don't particularly want to hang around any longer than we have to."

Victor nodded. "Alright, let's get this show on the road."

They ventured further into the depths of the Wideawake HQ.

--

They place was riddled with traps, guards and machines, all with the one objective of stopping and killing Logan and Victor. The inside of the HQ was white, all-white. Logan hated white; it reminded him of Project X, Stryker and all that torment his body and mind was put through. The walls weren't so much white now as red, black and a curious 'crushed machine' colour. Logan was glad for the change of scenery at least, though he wasn't quite so pleased at all the killing he was doing—even if they were the enemy. Still, he knew that it needed to be done; he couldn't handle the slow extinction of his friends and family, of the whole mutant race. The humans couldn't think past their own fear; they weren't able to see the growing numbers of mutants didn't mean that there was some sort of plot; they were blind to the evolution before them. They could kill every single mutant alive, but it wouldn't change anything in the end; the human race was coming to an end, not through war or shadow threats, but through evolution. When Magneto had tried to turn every human into a mutant, it hadn't been an uninspired notion; he knew the truth that it was just a matter of time. It was unfortunate that forcibly speeding up nature's progress left a lot of people dead.

Victor's voice broke Logan out of his thoughts. "Is it just me, or does it feel like they were mighty prepared for us?"

Logan scowled in consideration. "Yeah thought that was just me bein' paranoid though." His voice was almost teasing, but the situation was too intense for him to quite pull it off.

"Best we watch our step."

"Ya think?" Logan asked sarcastically, "I was just goin' to prance through the place with a blind fold and ear muffs." He sniggered to himself.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, runt." Victor muttered.

They turned a corner and Victor walked over to the first door he saw. He opened it and took a quick look inside, but finding nothing he slammed the door closed. "Where the hell are we supposed to go?" He growled out in frustration.

Logan didn't know. He couldn't even answer. He had no idea where they were supposed to go. He shrugged and continued walking.

"Somethin' tells me we're the wrong two for this job." Victor muttered in a brief moment of self-doubt.

"We'll do it," Logan assured him, "We always do."

They heard a noise and both dived towards the wall and pressed their backs to it. "Take a look." Victor ordered in a harsh whisper, pointing to the corner of the corridor that attached to an adjacent one. Giving a quick nod, Logan edged down the wall and inched his head around the corner—he ducked back behind the corner when he caught sight of a group of three men appearing out of a room. His enhanced senses meant that he could hear them as if he was standing right beside them.

"Damn mutant..." One of them muttered.

"Yeah, tell me about it. Idiot must be on a suicide mission here, thinking he can take us all on." Another one said.

The third one spoke then. "Yeah but he's not alone I don't think, word is, he's got friends."

"Damn, this day just keeps getting better." The second voice muttered.

The conversation was interrupted by the crackling of a radio.

"_Team Delta, come in! Team Delta? Where the hell are you?"_

The voice on the radio was panicked and 'Team Delta' quickly answered. "We're here what's going on?"

"_It's that mutant, he's here! Down on the eighteenth floor. He's already killed off Team Alpha and Gamma, we need back-up, get your asses down here—quick!"_

"Shit! We're on our way." The first voice of Team Delta answered. "Let's go."

The sound of footsteps retreating brought a bad feeling in the pit of Logan's stomach. "Another mutant?" He muttered, troubled by the news.

"What's the big problem?" Victor asked as he moved closer. "Now we've got a friend."

"No." Logan said slowly, "Now we've got another mutant in the building. We don't know if this guy is going to be a help to us or not. He could be trying to blow this place up."

Victor frowned. "So are we."

"No," Logan said sternly, "We're not. We're trying to get evidence that David Hewitt was killed as a set up."

"Yeah but..." Victor muttered, "We _are_ going to blow this place up, right?"

"Maybe." Logan conceded, "We'll play it by ear."

Victor sighed. "So what, are you goin' to go off helpin' that mutant now then?" He asked.

"What d'you think?"

Victor groaned. "Alright then, let's go play heroes."

Logan nodded and they were on the move again, trying to find the mysterious mutant.

--

They had made it to the eighteenth floor and stood in slightly horrified speechlessness. They stared at the mess. Bodies were littered around the mangled walls that had been bent out of shape to make it look as if they were a simple aluminium sheet. They studied the guns; they had been twisted and morphed beyond clear recognition.

"It can't be..." Logan muttered in bemusement. "It can't be Magneto; his powers are gone."

Shrugging, Victor could only shake his head. "Maybe it...wore off?"

"It ain't some kind of vitamin boost; it's supposed to be permanent."

"So you think that there is another mutant goin' around bendin' metal and makin' a fuss?" Victor asked.

"Maybe, I dunno..."

"You still want to go and play hero, or are we ok to continue on with our mission?"

Logan looked at his brother. "I don't want to get involved with Magneto—"

"—great it's settled—"

"—_but_," Logan said sternly, "If Magneto _is_ around, then he's up to no good. I don't want him to destroy this place before we have time to finish what we came here for. This is our one chance; Magneto could ruin everythin'."

"Right, let's go kick some spoon-bending-butt then." Victor agreed as he moved through the corridor, following the bloody footprints of what they presumed to be Magneto.

It didn't take long for them to track the mutant, there was no skill in it; they just followed the trails of destruction.

They were about to climb a set of stairs when Logan stopped and stiffened.

"What?" Victor asked gruffly, confused at the sudden stop.

"Magneto, he's here." Logan said, feeling the pull of the other mutant from the adamantium in his bones.

"How the hell do you know?" Victor asked and then shook his head, "Never mind, I get it, where the hell is he?"

Before Logan answered, Magneto did. "I'm here Sabertooth."

Victor spun and Logan managed to perform the task a little slower, fighting the hold Magneto had on him. He knew Magneto wasn't entirely focusing his power on him, if he had, then Logan wouldn't be able to twitch his fingers, let alone turn his whole body. They regarded Magneto carefully; he looked tired and about ten years older than he had when Logan first met him.

"You got yer powers back." Logan said.

"How observant." Magneto answered in a deadpan voice.

"How?" Victor asked.

"What are _you_ doing with the X-men, Sabertooth?" Magneto questioned, ignoring the brothers.

"I ain't Sabertooth anymore Magneto; I'm a whole new animal."

"So it seems." Magneto commented with nonchalance, "But that doesn't answer my question."

"And you never answered ours." Logan said.

Magneto considered Victor's question. He didn't seem any harm in answering the two mutants. "My powers came back. It was slow at first, but lately I've been feeling as strong as ever."

To prove his point, Magneto lifted his hand and Logan's arm flew upwards of its own accord. "Stop that." Logan growled. Victor snickered, "Shut up, Victor."

"What are you doin' here Magneto?" Victor asked, sobering.

"What are the _X-men_ doing here?" The old man challenged.

Victor and Logan shared a look. Victor shrugged and Logan spoke. "We're lookin' fer somethin'."

Magneto crossed his arms. "You'll have to do better than that if you want any answers from me." There was almost an air of amusement around the old man.

Logan sighed and rolled his eyes. "You know David Hewitt?" He asked.

Magneto nodded. "That human that brought in the collaring. Insulting that the X-men played his little dogs. Honestly it was more of a surprise that it took so long for some mutant to kill him. I would have done it myself, only I didn't have my powers back when it happened. Unfortunate, really."

"Yeah well, it wasn't a mutant. It was a set up. This whole war is based on it. If we can find evidence against it—"

"Then you can stop the war." Magneto finished.

"Now, what are you doin' here." Victor demanded.

Magneto's eyes hardened. "I'm here for revenge. One of Project Wideawake's machines killed a young mutant."

"A friend of yours?"

"Quite."

"So you wanna blow this place to smitherines?" Victor asked.

Magneto nodded.

"You wanna wait until we've got our evidence?"Logan asked.

Magneto barked out harsh laughter. "What do you think?" He asked as if the question was utterly ridiculous.

Victor growled and took half a step forward. Logan put his hand on his brother's shoulder and gave him a tiny shake of his head. Logan sighed and let his hand drop to his side. He seemed almost sad, his eyes shining with pain. But the determination was also there. Even if it killed him, Logan knew he would not fail Storm.

"We're tryin' to stop the War." He said, imploringly, "We'd be savin' countless lives."

"What do I care about that?" Magneto retorted.

Logan wanted to use force, but some instinctive part of his brain told him that now, it was not the way. "All that pain..." He muttered.

Magneto twitched his head to the side, unsure of what Logan was talking about. The old man's body was tense with mistrust.

"You want to see all that pain again?" Logan finally asked.

Victor gave his brother a sideways look and began to understand. "Yeah," He joined in, "You think that you won't lose anyone after this?"

Magneto snarled. "Shut up!" He demanded loudly.

"What yer doin' here is a waste of time." Logan continued.

"It sure as hell won't achieve anythin'." Victor added.

Magneto looked from Logan to Victor and then back again. They were so co-ordinated, so united, it seemed hardly possible. Victor hated Logan, hadn't he? Wasn't that why he had taken the man's dog tags all those years ago when Magneto had ordered the feral mutant to kidnap Rogue? Wasn't it supposed to be a trophy of some sort? So why had they changed? Why had Victor joined the X-men? Why were they so close, so companionable, so...similar? There were too many things that Magneto didn't know, and now wasn't the time for him to think about it. He wasn't thinking logically now. The cold, calculating demeanour he had always prided himself on was gone. All he could feel was pain, hurt, anger, sadness. It was consuming.

He hadn't even known the mutant very well. But he was a kid. A kid that for some reason had connected with him. It was the first time that he had felt the need to look after someone like that. It had been all ruined though, when '_They'_ had raided his hiding place. His powers had not come back to their fullest strength back then. He was powerless to stop them. So he had vowed revenge and he had found this place. He was going to blow it up.

But then he had met them; the two feral mutants that were hell bent on ruining his plans. The two men who were causing vast turmoil within himself.

"What do you want?" Magneto spit out eventually, sounding more upset than he would have liked.

"To see the big picture." They said simultaneously, in unison, as if their mind was one. What was worse, they didn't seem to find it strange. They stood in front of him, an almighty force, united by a single purpose.

It was Victor who broke away from the 'hive mind' and spoke on his own. "If you blow this place up, it ain't gonna change anythin'. In fact, it'll make it worse."

Logan picked up his brother's train of thought, "The forces against mutants will become more aggressive, more deadly."

"You'll lose everythin'." Victor said quietly.  
"We'll become extinct." Logan told him.

Again, they spoke as one. "We need to end this now."

Their unity was unnerving, and despite knowing he was far superior to them, Magneto felt hopelessly outnumbered. It struck a deep chord of doubt within him. For the first time in years, Erik Lehnsherr felt hopelessly lost. He didn't want to play nice with the X-men; he didn't want to be tied down by them. But they were right; he wasn't doing anyone any good. There were still others that he cared about. Could he really protect them if things got worse? He had always thought that he could. But now... he wasn't so certain.

Very slowly, and with a great reluctance, Magneto nodded. "I'll wait." He said softly.

Victor's face split into a grin and Logan gave a relieved sigh, tension visibly leaving his shoulders.

"Good," Logan said, "That's good."

"C'mon," Victor said, "we don't have time to be wastin' hangin' around here."

--

It had taken almost an hour, but they had gotten there. There had been hoards of guards, all of them eager and willing to kill them. But with Logan's claws, Victor's nails and Magneto's metal manipulation, it had become infinitely easier. Once or twice, Logan suspected that Magneto had made him freeze up in the face of a machine or man so that he got caught with a few extra bullets or hits. Logan suspected this, but said nothing. If Magneto was indeed doing as he thought—and Logan was almost definite that he was—then it wasn't an attempt to kill him, rather a childish act of spite. Well, once it didn't put him in any real danger, then Logan wasn't going to be the one that destroyed their uneasy truce. They had managed to find a key card that opened all the electronic doors that had previously been a pain to get though. Not that they really needed it, with Magneto being able to send the metal barrier's flying, but it was better to leave their trail to an absolute minimum. That way, they would have more time to look through the place without being interrupted.

And they were sure grateful for that time now.

They took the time to shuffle rapidly through the various papers. Logan quickly gave up on that and went to the computer mainframe. He typed furiously, pulling documents and scanning through them.

"There's too much," He muttered. With a sigh he reached into his pocket and pulled out a USB stick. He put it into the compute and transferred as many files as he could into it. Not everything could fit, though, and Victor had the idea to bring the whole computer's storage unit back.

"You wanna carry it?" Logan asked.

Victor scoffed and discarded the paper he had been looking through. There was nothing of any interest.

The whole time, Magneto had leaned against the wall, watching the two men work. "You never did tell me why you joined the X-men, Sabertooth."

"It ain't a matter of X-men..." Victor muttered, removing the computer's storage unit and hoisting it onto his shoulder. "They just came with it."

Magneto was going to question what Victor meant by that when Logan turned. "Let's go." He said.

Magneto straightened. "No. Not until I blow this place up. We had a deal." He strode past Logan and stood at the computer. "There must be some way to activate a self-destruct." He mumbled.

Victor scoffed blatantly. "Yeah, sure, they're just gonna have a big red button..."

He trailed away as he saw it. It wasn't big or red, but under a slip of metal with the word "caution" printed on it. Supposedly, the only way to lift the metal would be with the key that fit into the keyhole beside it. However, Magneto was the mutant that was perfect for the job. He didn't even need to lift a finger before the slip went flying across the room. He pressed the button and with a flare of his cape, he turned and left the room.

"_Twenty minutes to self destruct, all personnel evacuate immediately."_

"It's time to get out of here." Victor said as he too left the room with the storage unit under his arm. With a sigh, Logan followed after him.

--

They had met up with Magneto and had fought their way out. There was no way to stop the self destruct, apparently, and most of the guards cared more about leaving than stopping them from leaving. It was only one or two of them that had actually bothered and those that had mostly just sent machines after them.

But they had escaped—barely. It was a mad dash to get out of the blast zone, one that left all of them panting and shaking from both exertion and adrenalin. They had barely turned around to see if they were far enough away when the whole stone monument erupted in a mushroom explosion. Even from their position far away, the force of the blast lifted them off their feet and sent them flying.

Magneto groaned as he pushed himself onto his feet.

"Well that's that." Victor muttered, watching the dust settle over the ruins of the Wideawake HQ. He picked up the storage unit and studied it for a moment. It didn't seem to be damaged. That was good.

"D'you wanna come along with us?" Logan asked Magneto.

Scoffing, Magneto turned down the offer. "I wouldn't waste my time." He told them, brushing himself off.

Logan was quiet for a moment. "Do you need a lift somewhere?" He asked.

Magneto barked out harsh laughter. "I don't need to be looked after, Logan."

Logan shrugged. "Suit yerself." He said. "C'mon Victor, it's time to go."

Victor nodded and they began to walk away.

"You never did tell me why you joined the X-men." Magneto called after Victor.

Victor turned. "Yeah," He said, "But I don't feel especially inclined to tell."

Logan and Victor walked away.

--

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Okay, my long absence is over and it's good to be back. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed and I hope you enjoy this next chapter.**

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* * *

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The wind suddenly changed direction and unleashed its army of heavy precipitation at a different angle. A full frontal assault on the windscreen of the car. Victor's jaw tightened in frustration and he turned the windscreen wipers onto their full speed as he tried to peer through the blinding effect of the rain. He could barely make out the waterlogged world that existed outside of the metal vehicle and could only just about distinguish the tarmac from the rocky earth beside it.

With a sudden, awe-inspiring illumination, the whole night lit up as titanic forked lightning arrived from the heavens, followed by colossal grumblings of thunder.

Despite concentrating intently on the road, Victor felt his lips peel into a grin and his cheeks rise to accommodate it. Lightning was a happy sight. None of the abominations of Project Wideawake could be used during thunder and lightning, their behemoth steel bodies attracted it, acting as giant conductors. The electrical tridents fried any and all circuiting in them.

_Deus es Machina__, thank you, God._

Victor looked over at Logan, wondering if he was thinking the same thing. But Logan was asleep, his arms crossed and his hands tucked under his arm pits, his neck angled downwards with his chin resting on his sternum. He had the computer mainframe from Project Wideawake tucked safely between his knees like a bird guarding a nest of eggs.

Victor, it seemed, was alone with his thoughts and a barely visible road.

With a quick glance to Logan, Victor reached over and turned the radio on, taking care not to have the volume too loud. Soft music came on and quietly filled the car. It was jazz music. A single saxophone played. Victor knew this song. It was about twenty years ago, the first time he had heard that song. New Orleans was the city. He was with GENISIS; he was with Sage back then. They were well into their relationship back then, in fact, it would be less than a year before he left GENISIS—and her.

* * *

"It's very vogue," Sage was saying as she mindlessly touched the replacement necklace she had received from Victor. "It's a whole new form of expression of art. I think it could be the next big thing. But then, who knows? It's hard to say, really."

Victor was listening to Sage quietly, occasionally nodding. His eyes were wandering around the room. Sage was going through a 'cultured' phrase. Whether it was because she was sick of him not taking her anywhere nice, or she had some secret love for the stuff, Victor wasn't sure.

They were in a restaurant. There was a band, a jazz band, getting ready to start playing. Occasionally a stray note would squeeze through the brass of the saxophone or through the strings of the double bass. Victor didn't need to have music played to him while he ate, hell, he didn't need to eat in an expensive restaurant either, but he was willing to put up with it for Sage.

"This isn't your thing, I get it, but it's better than just staring at each other all night. At least you could try and open your mind, right?"

Victor looked back over to her and gave her a humouring smile, "Couldn't be more open, sweetheart."

Sage didn't look convinced. "Suit yourself, Victor. All I'm saying is that there's more to life than steak and chips. "

"Well I don't know about that..." Victor muttered, being unnecessarily awkward, and knowing it too. Sage knew it as well.

"Fine." She said, "That's fine, then." She looked down at the table unhappily.

Victor's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. They loved each other, but things weren't going well at the moment. It was strained; everything they said or did had the potential to set each other off. Victor, who had never had a relationship that lasted so long, wondered if this was what happened. Then again, he had met people who had lived together for fifty and sixty years, surely that wouldn't work if they were completely unhappy.

"Ya think people can, uh... I dunno, be happy together fer like... fifty years or somethin'?"

Sage's eyes snapped up towards his face. Her features scrunched together in confusion. "Are we breaking up?" She asked.

"The hell?" Victor said, "No. I was jus' wonderin', is all. Got to thinkin' about it, ya know?"

"Oh." She said and started thinking, "Um, I suppose. I mean, there's a lot of people who aren't able to live together but then, sometimes it works. I think it was Bob Hope—you know him, right? The actor?—well, he and his wife were together for almost ninety years. That's not all that bad, is it?"

Victor whistled. "Almost as old as me." He said.

"Yeah, guess so." She shrugged.

The food arrived. They picked up their knives and forks and began to eat. Victor sighed softly. He had a longing, he now realised. A longing to return to the wild. That was why their relationship had been strained, that was why they were becoming more and more unhappy. It wasn't them, it wasn't the fact that they had been together for so long, it was him—all him. But the call... The wild, the open. He needed that. He needed to return to his home—he needed Jimmy. His damn brother an idiot for dying as he did, for leaving Victor alone so that all he was left with was the tatters of a relationship with someone he loved. He hid a snarl with a particularly vicious bite to his broccoli. He assaulted the legume with a few harsh gnashes before he threw his cutlery onto the plate with a sharp 'cling'.

"Screw this." Victor said as he got up and left.

Sage watched him go, frozen in bemusement at his sudden departure.

* * *

He had been an idiot, Victor decided as he slowed the car down to read a road sign. After straining to see that he was on the right road, he sped up again, which left him with his thoughts. Victor and Sage's life together had not been perfect—but he had been happy anyhow.

Yet he had ruined it. Hindsight was not something Victor valued. It made him remember how stupidly he had acted in the past. He should never have left Sage. He should have quelled the desire to leave, just stuck it out like a man until it left him again. Or at least he could have told her what he was doing and where he was going. Instead he had chosen to sneak away like a dog with its tail between its legs in the middle of the night.

What was the most ironic of all, was the fact that now, after twenty years, Victor wanted nothing more to come crawling back to her.

He frowned. Sage wasn't willing to have him back though, whether it was because of the war or because she just remembered how he had treated her, he wasn't sure. It didn't really matter in the end, but then, if Sage had just been reluctant due to the war, then surely he would have a chance at getting back together with her? He didn't know. Now that Jimmy was alive and present, did he really want her?

His thoughts rolled around in that manner for a very long time. He was so preoccupied that he didn't notice the road block until he was almost upon it. He growled in frustration. He looked back over at Logan, who was still sleeping soundly. He'd leave his little brother for the moment.

A sheriff strolled up to the car once Victor decreased the speed to a stop.

"Good evening, sir." The sheriff said, shining his torch into the car. "What's wrong with him?" He asked, pointing towards the sleeping form of Logan.

Victor shrugged, not bothering to take a look at his brother. "Sleepin'." He said, "There a problem?"

The sheriff turned the light off. "You know where you're heading?" He asked.

Victor nodded. "Sure do. Our ma lives in one of the border towns to the mutant city. Stubborn as a mule; she just won't move. God knows its not fer lack of tryin'."

The sheriff nodded sympathetically. "It's becoming dangerous. People are becoming mighty scared. You might suggest to her that it would be safer for her to move."

"Yeah," Victor agreed with a friendliness he didn't feel, "Yer tellin' me. But then, these old folk, ya can't tell 'em nothin'; they jus' don't wanna hear it."

"Fair enough." The sheriff conceded eventually. "Well, you look after yourself, and watch out for any of those damn filthy mutants."

The sheriff pat the car's roof twice as he walked away motioning for his fellow guard to move the motorcade. Victor didn't move the car initially. He sat at the wheel with white knuckles.

_Filthy mutants_

It wasn't the first time he had heard that phrase. Indeed, tonight seemed to be a time for memories.

"Filthy mutants!" The man screamed at a young Victor and Jimmy.

Victor bared his teeth, trying to hide the instinctive flinch as the man's boot struck the bars to their cell. They were in a prison cell, chased and eventually captured, locked away like animals in a freak show. Jimmy whimpered from the corner and Victor, reluctantly, stopped what he was doing and walked over to his brother. Being especially careful to not look scary or angry.

"It's okay, Jimmy," Victor whispered, "We'll get out of here."

Jimmy looked up at him with wide eyes, fully of disbelief. "How?" He asked.

The single word cause an actual, physical pain in Victor's chest. How indeed? Victor didn't know, he didn't have an answer for it. "Somehow." It was all he could say.

They had lived on their own for two years in the wild. Two years without seeing a single human. Two years and in their very first return to civilisation that got them into their current situation. The reason for their troubles was a girl.

And it was also Victor's fault—of course.

He had met her when they were walking down the main road of the small town. She was returning with her parents to their home after spending the previous two hours in the strict church of her religion.

Everyone who passed them regarded the two interlopers with suspicion. It was her though, that did not mistrust and instead smiled. She hadn't been a particularly beautiful young woman, and Victor couldn't for the life of him remember her name, but he was young and she had showed him kindness. That was the only real thing that mattered to him.

The next time Victor went to the town, it had been without his annoying little brother to get in the way. He had found the girl and after talking with her a few times, Victor had begun to develop feelings for her. One night, after she had agreed to meet him, they were discovered. The girl claimed that he had tried to take advantage of her innocence and Victor's blood was suddenly the punishment for his non-crime.

He had managed to escape the limits of the town—barely—by revealing himself to be a mutant and using his abilities to carve up a few people on the way. But, he had also run into a wandering Jimmy and, unable to outrun the mob, they had been thrown into the local jail.

"We'll hang ya at dawn." The man laughed darkly, muttering to himself as he left them alone.

There was silence for a moment.

"Why'd you do it, Victor?" Jimmy asked, full of that childish innocence that he had still managed to retain.

Victor snarled. "I didn't _touch_ that broad. She's a lyin—"

"Then why'd you meet her? Why'd you leave me alone?" There was an odd note of pleading in his brother's voice. Betrayal was the next most noticeable thing.

Victor understood his brother's confusion; they had been constantly together for the last two years. Yet this was the very reason why Victor had gotten involved with the girl.

"I need some time to myself, Jimmy. I can't look after you all the time. I _deserve_ some time alone."

Jimmy looked at him with hurt. "Fine," He whispered, "Then you can go over there and have the time you deserve in _that_ corner." He said, pointing to the opposite corner.

A short stab of guilt pierced Victor's chest. "Jimmy..." He tried helplessly.

"Go!" Jimmy cried, "Leave me alone... I want to be alone too."

"I'll get us out of here, Jimmy," He promised quietly as he retreated to the other side of the cell.

Jimmy didn't answer; he just sniffled once and tucked himself further away into his little corner.

* * *

"Yo, get a move on!" The sheriff said, shaking Victor from his memories. He put the car into gear and moved on; giving the sheriff a wave he didn't feel particularly inclined to give.

He had broken him and Jimmy out of that damn cell back then after a night of plotting and planning that was wasted since all he had to do was slit the jailors throat. That was the beginning of a simpler time for Victor. If he was stuck in a situation, the best thing to do was to kill, kill and see if anything else needed killing. It was a lifestyle that suited him well enough. He had opened himself to the beast inside and he had only tried to resist it in recent years.

"What was that all about?" Logan asked, now awake and rubbing his face tiredly with his hand.

"Just a concerned law enforcer, makin' sure we weren't making trouble fer no one."

"Oh yeah, and were we?"

"Nah, I was the perfect gentleman; we're travellin' to our poor ol' ma whose too stubborn to move house."

Logan chuckled with great amusement. "An' he fell for it?"

Victor schooled his face in mock seriousness. "I was a _very_ convincing actor."

Snorting, Logan shook his head. "We near yet?" He asked, trying to catch a glimpse of the outside world from within their cocoon of dry and warmth.

"Yeah, we're near."

They drove for another half an hour in companionable silence until they reached the first sights of the mutant city, Massachusetts. They passed into the city and drove all the way to their hideout.

"Won't be any Sentinels out tonight." Logan said after the lightning struck again, just on the horizon. Victor nodded but didn't answer.

There were people, mutants, out in the streets of the city that night. Kids were playing in the rain, men and women walking or even sitting on the road, staring up at the cloudy night sky. When the War originally started, Storm used to create that sort of weather almost every night. But it made her exhausted and she no longer had the energy to do it. Now was could not be attributed to Storm's abilities; this was all nature. All the people that were out tonight made Logan and Victor's progress slow. Still, they soon arrived outside the building.

Victor turned off the lights, the wipers and stopped the engine.

Logan opened the door and stepped out, before turning around and carefully taking the Project Wideawake mainframe from the floor. He quickly moved inside the building, making sure that it didn't get too wet. Victor followed Logan walking quickly also, making sure that _he_ didn't get too wet.

They made their way through the underground tunnels, moving all the time towards Storm's office. It was on their way there that they met up with Sage. She was leaning against the wall when they first saw her. Her head turned to survey them and she took off her sunglasses, standing up straighter.

"You came back." She said with a certain amount of humour in her voice. It was as if she had so much faith in them that she hadn't even worried. It was probably true too. Sage had been in sticky situations with Victor before and she knew how he handled things. Victor had to admit it himself; he _was_ impressive.

"Course." Victor said, moving in front of his brother and giving Sage a lazy grin. Sage gave a short smile in response before looking past Victor to Logan.

"And _what_ is that?" She asked with a great amount of interest.

Victor gave a melodramatic sigh and stood aside. Trust Sage to get excited over a hunk of metal and wiring. He really couldn't compete with it.

"It's the mainframe of Project Wideawake." Logan explained, "We were hopin' you could take a look at it."

Sage's face split in a grin. She let out a giddy laugh before she could hold it back. "You have no idea how much I want to take a look through this."

"That good?" Victor asked with a slightly distasteful look on his face.

Still, Sage either ignored his humour or didn't notice, she glanced at him happily. "Like you can't imagine. The information that's on it must be..." She trailed away and shook herself from her wistful thoughts, "It's supposed to be one of the hardest security systems to crack in the world. You know that? No. Well, it is. _And_ I'm all for a challenge."

"Good." Logan grunted, unsure of what else to say.

Sage nodded. "Okay, if you could just put it in there, that would be great." She pointed to the door a few feet away. Logan nodded and went past them, to leave it inside. Victor stayed behind.

"You get here okay?" He asked, somewhat awkwardly.

"Yes," She said, "There was hardly any disturbances. Although, I must admit, I wasn't planning on finding myself here. Storm called me two days ago and asked me to travel here. I'm glad she did. Europe's too exciting for me."

"Still bad?"

"Uh-huh" She muttered as she saw Logan appear. She perked up, "Oh, by the way! You haven't heard the news, have you?" She asked the two brothers.

They exchanged a glance and shook their heads. "We haven't heard nothin'."

Sage gave a knowing grin. "You have to see this. Come on, it's this way." She said as she began to stride quickly away, travelling towards Storm's office. Victor and Logan looked at each other and shrugged, before following after the quickly retreating form of Sage.

After a few moments, they arrived at Storm's door. Sage stood easily with her arms crossed.  
"In there. Enjoy." She said, motioning to Storm's office. She then moved, brushing past Victor, giving him a quick, enigmatic smile, a certain 'knowing' shining in her eyes.

Victor frowned, not liking the fact that she knew what was going on and he didn't. This frustration led to him reaching the door first and pulling it open.

He stopped in the doorway.

"Ah, it's a pleasure to see you again Mr. Creed." A very familiar voice said from the depths of Storm's office.

"What the hell?" Victor said in shock.

Logan hurried behind his brother to see what was going on. He too stopped when he caught a glimpse of the man inside.

"Chuck?" He asked in astonishment, almost staggering back with shock.

The man inside smiled kindly, "It's good to see you, old friend."

Logan didn't move. He studied the ghost of Charles Xavier, the man who couldn't possibly be alive. He didn't look like the Chuck he had met almost eight years ago. This man was younger than him, not exactly young but middle-aged, he had dark hair and green eyes. He was standing tall. No longer was he paralysed from the waist down. By all means, nothing about the man pointed to him being Charles Xavier—only his scent, and his voice.

"How is this possible?" Logan eventually managed to ask, his widened eyes moving between Xavier and Storm.

"Please, sit. There is much to discuss." Xavier said, gesturing to the chairs in front of Storm's desk. Storm too, was standing and she sat down gracefully on a chair slightly to the side of her desk. Only, it didn't seem to be her desk anymore. It seemed she had relinquished the power to Xavier now that he had shown up. It certainly seemed like the logical thing to do.

"Now," Charles Xavier said, "You are, undoubtedly, wondering how I am alive—and in another body no less."

Logan nodded sharply, Victor was stock-still, mistrustful.

"Before Jean destroyed my body five years ago I had heard about a young man who was in a coma from an old friend, a Dr. Moira MacTaggert. She was doing research on coma brain activity in coma patients and she discovered that although the man himself was not present, his body had the ability to house another mutant."

"So that's how you survived." Logan muttered.

Xavier gave a pleasant smile along with his nod. "Precisely." He said.

Victor, who had been mostly quiet during their meeting, licked his lips before he spoke. "What took you so long then?" He asked darkly. "It's been four years since the war started."

It seemed to be almost half-heresy to speak against Charles Xavier as Logan gave Victor a dig and a warning look. Xavier himself didn't seem to mind the critical tone.

He never stopped being polite as he answered. "I took over the body of a man who had been in a coma for ten years. I had to relearn how to use my new body. At first I could do everything fine, talk, walk, run—anything. However, I later learned that it was my own telekinetic powers that were enabling me to do so. I exhausted myself without even realising it; I almost put my body into another coma. Dr. MacTaggert was a great help; she was the one who looked after me and taught me everything again. She acted as my caretaker for the last few years and I am indebted to her."

"It didn't take five years to learn how to walk again." Victor challenged once more. He had crossed his arms and rose to his full height while sitting. He was in full-hostile mode. Logan had no idea why; Charles Xavier had never made enemies with Victor. Yes they had fought on opposite sides, but that wasn't something that usually bothered his brother.

"You're right, of course." Charles admitted easily, "It took me almost two years to gain full control of this body—not five. But by then, the war had started. Dr. MacTaggert was good enough to not turn me over to the authorities; she stuck by my side. After that, I bid her farewell, knowing that she would not be harassed since no one knew she was helping a mutant. I then travelled to Europe. Dr. MacTaggert lives in Canada, you see, and I couldn't travel across the border; the security was too tight, they aren't letting anyone through. But I suspected that you were all alright, so I hid myself in a freight ship destined for Europe. When I got there, I started to help mutants who were being persecuted. Over time I learned about Massachusetts and how mutants had founded a safe haven there. I instantly knew that you were all alright. This was the first chance I got to actually see this place with my own eyes. I must admit, considering the circumstances, this is really very impressive."

Logan gave a modest smile and Storm nodded softly beside Xavier. Victor looked to the other two in surprise.

"Ya gotta be kiddin' me." He said, somewhat angrily, "Yer actually acceptin' this?" He asked his two war buddies in astonishment. "He comes waltzin' in here after five years, no word, no nothin' and yer jus' goin' to let it all go? He could of picked up a phone, got his doctor lady to do it, or he could of used that freaky mind stuff he does. There ain't one good reason why he hasn't contacted us. We thought he was dead and he was jus' loungin' around in Canada!"

Logan growled lowly, "A bit like you, ya mean?" He retorted agitatedly.

"That was different." Victor defended moving his upper body nearer to his brother threateningly.

"Oh yeah," Logan asked as he too moved in closer until they were almost butting heads literally, "How?"

"I don't have to explain myself to a runt like you."

Logan moved back slightly, a very small, smug smirk on his face. "An' neither does Chuck." He said.

Victor's eyes narrowed, knowing that logic was against him. He didn't respond, instead seemed to back down slightly, sitting further into his seat. Whether it was an actual admittance of defeat, or he was bidding his time until the next round was not entirely clear.

Xavier watched the interaction with some interest. While they were gone, Storm had explained the brief details of the relationship between Victor Creed and Logan. It had been a surprise, to be sure. Yet seeing them together, it should not have been altogether so.

"It's alright," Xavier said eventually, "I'm glad you wish to keep my privacy but I do not mind speaking to you three of this. The answer—although simple—is, I'm afraid to say, not particularly satisfying. The reason why I never called was simply because I was ashamed that I was rendered so powerless. I have never been so dominated by anything in my life before; not even my paralysis made such an impact on my life. Besides that, I knew that if I were to alert you to my situation, you would probably want to bring me back to the manor. I did not want to become a problem for you in my weakened state and in such a tumultuous time I would not have been an asset, only a hindrance. Although, now that we are on the topic of the war, I must say that you have all dealt with it the best way possible. I would not have been able to do anything more than what has already been done; that too, was another reason I did not feel it was imperative to force my way back into the scene. Had you all truly become lost, I would have ignored my own good judgement and have come back to help you. That, however, was not necessary."

Logan and Storm once again seemed to accept this. Victor was bemused at the utter belief and trust they had in this man. Logan and he had been in the world long enough to know that people were never infallible, how his brother had missed that fact escaped Victor. He, sticking to his suspicious behaviour, folded his arms slowly.

"So," He said, readying himself for round two, "Ya didn't call. I'm a reasonable guy, I get that. Ya didn't want to be in the way—fine by me. What about when you were off gallivantin' around Europe? I know there ain't no phone connections here, but yer still a mutant, ya still could o' contacted Storm or Jimmy through telepathy. Wouldn't of been that hard now would it?"

"Victor!" Storm admonished and Logan gave him a light clip on the back of his head.

Xavier held up his hand to calm his associates down. "Please," He said softly, though with a commanding air, "Victor had a right to express his concerns."

Storm nodded, looking admonished, Logan leaned back in his chair, almost expressionless and Victor gave a satisfied "hmph".

"You've touched upon an important subject, Victor." Xavier said, "And it's important that all of you hear this."

They all seemed to listen just a little bit closer when Xavier spoke, wondering what he was going to announce. Charles Xavier took a short, fortifying breath before he divulged his secret.

"Death is not something that is easily overcome. It took most of my strength to come back to life after my fight with Jean. I had to sacrifice some of my power so that I could live again."

Storm took a sharp intake of air, "You mean..." She couldn't finish, but Xavier could.

"Yes, I lost my ability to communicate telepathically, just as I lost the ability to stop time and my remaining ones have been severely weakened. Unfortunately, I am no use to you as a soldier."

Storm shook her head. "You are our leader. You may have lost some of your power, but it is your politics, you compassion, your wisdom that we need. Even if we didn't, this is your job," She said gesturing around the office, "I was always only filling in."

"Thank you, Storm," Xavier said genuinely.

Even Victor couldn't deny that the man seemed to be the real deal. Back when he had been working with Magneto, he had seen Xavier's pacifism as weakness. Now that he was no longer under the reign of the blood thirsty animal inside of him, Victor could give a certain grudging appreciation of the man's skills. Victor didn't really care about his skills though, what had worried him the most was waking up one morning to find a knife in his or Logan's back. That would be something he could not allow to happen.

"It's good to have you back, Chuck." Logan said.

Before Xavier could reply, there was a slightly urgent knock on the door. The person who had knocked didn't wait to be let in before coming inside. Marie stood somewhat awkwardly in the doorway, rubbing her arm self-consciously.

"Ah'm sorry ta interrupt, but there's a man outside that you might wanna go see."

"Who is it?" Xavier asked.

Marie shrugged, "Ah dunno, he wouldn't say. Said he'd only speak ta Storm."

Storm, used to taking action over the last few years, reacted quickly. "Okay, I'll go out. Marie, don't let anyone near him, alright?"

Marie nodded and rushed off. Storm made to leave but was stopped by Logan.

"We'll handle it." He said, standing in front of her.

Victor also stood up. " Yeah, we'll suss him out, bring him down to ya if he's safe."

Storm hesitantly nodded, pursing her lips.

Logan and Victor left the room and rushed down the halls, leaving the sanctuary of the underground to meet the mysterious stranger.

* * *

"Who the hell are you?" Victor demanded loudly.

The storm had stopped some time during the night and with the low rising sun came a very light fog. It had crawled into the city serenely, surrounding the stranger like a protective layer. The man held up his hands, completely relaxed with the situation. He had a lazy half-smirk on his face. He wasn't a mutant, he was a human.

"Easy there, tiger," He drawled in a voice that sounded like he was about to yawn, "I come in peace."

Victor growled. "Who the hell. Are. You?" He repeated more slowly.

The man didn't seem perturbed. "You aren't Storm; I'm not going to talk to anyone who isn't Storm."

"We won't let you pass until we know you're safe." Logan, the voice of reason, said in response.

The man sighed. "What I want to discuss is..." He paused to find the right word, "delicate. I can't afford to have my name heard by the wrong ears or my face seen by the wrong eyes. I came here at a great danger to myself from both sides, the least you could do is show me a little courtesy."

Neither Victor nor Logan moved, they stood as a motionless wall of immovable flesh. For a few moments, both parties tried to glare each other into submission until the man gave up and sighed.

"Fine, you want to know if I'm safe, here." He reached into his pocket and took out a gun. Victor and Logan tensed quickly. The man just gave them a deadpan stare and threw the weapon towards them. It landed at their feet. "See?" He asked, aggravated, almost like a grumpy pubescent child.

"You still haven't told us who you are." Victor said, not giving him any leeway.

"I can help you." He tried.

Victor shook his head, Logan glared.

The man's jaw tightened, he dug his hands into his black coat and looked away. "My name is Noah Carver. I'm the man who killed David Hewitt."

They were silent for a moment before Victor snarled and rushed forward, grabbing a hold of the man's coat. "I'm goin' to rip you up." He threatened, and none of them thought it was an idle threat. Logan watched dispassionately, not terribly inclined to stop Victor. Still, the assassin kept his cool.

"And when you do that," He said darkly, not as intimidating as Victor but it was still impressive considering the position he was in. "You'll have ripped up the single thing that can stop this war."

This made Victor hesitated and Logan took a step forward to put a hand on his brother's shoulder. The message was clear enough; don't do anything stupid. As if Victor would.

Slowly, Victor's grip loosened on the man and he took half a step back. "Explain." He commanded.

Noah Carver nodded. "I will." He promised, "When you take me to Storm."

The two feral mutants looked to each other.

As a single unit they sighed.

* * *

"Explain." Storm said with her arms crossed.

Noah Carver was sitting on a chair in Storm's, now Xavier's, office. "I was employed by the founder's of Project Wideawake to kill David Hewitt."

"Why are you here?"

"I can help you."

Storm looked impatient. "Yes, so you have said. But how, and why?"

Xavier was quiet, his hand to his chin as he pondered the man in front of him. He was trying to probe his mind to check for any lies. So far, anything the man had said was true. But then, he hadn't really said all that much, had he?

"I'm willing to testify in court that I was hired to carry out the assassination of Hewitt and make it look like a mutant attack."

"What's to say we need you, we already got evidence, we wouldn't we just kill you now?" Victor said.

Carver half-turned in Victor's direction as he addressed him. "Evidence?" He asked, "You mean that computer mainframe you stole? That won't be enough. You might find one or two things that would be _interesting_ to a court, but nothing that would be damning enough. Besides, you broke into a private facility, you blew it up and you stole that evidence. Even with consideration taken for what must be done in a war, something like that wouldn't be appropriate to use in a courtroom. _And_" He continued, "Even if it was, don't you think they'll just call you filthy lying mutants and pawn your discovery off to a frame job?"

Logan growled, "Watch it." He warned at the insult.

The man held up his hands. "Don't get me wrong, I don't care if your mutants or not—doesn't bother me in the slightest. But I'm not exactly your average citizen." He turned to Xavier and Storm, instinctively knowing who was in charge, "You'd become much more credible if you had a human on your side. Especially an inside man."

"What's to say they'd even believe you?" Storm asked, "They could easily say that you're lying, that you're a mutant sympathiser and that you were put up to going to court. It's your word against theirs and they have more money for better lawyers."

A small, smug smirk touched the assassin's lips. "I'm meticulous." He said proudly, "That's why it was me who was hired and not someone else. Being that way inclined, I always take precautions when dealing with my employers. For instance, if they became too much trouble, I would be prepared with... oh I don't know, say a recording of any conversation we've ever had."

"How do we know you're telling the truth?"

The man smirked as he took out a small recording device and pressed play. Immediatedly Noah Carver's voice filled the room.

"_It's done. Have the money wired to my account."_

Another voice spoke then. _"Make sure to set the scene perfectly; I don't want anyone to suspect this isn't legitimate. They need to think the mutants have done this."_

"_Of course"_

Noah Carver clicked the stop button and put it on the table. "This is yours." He said, "You see, with me, those recordings and what you'll undoubtedly find in the computer you stole, there's every possibility that the war will be over by Christmas."

Xavier, who had been quiet, spoke carefully, "That does explain how, and I can't fault you, it is possibly the best option. However, that doesn't explain why. What reason could you possibly have to help us? Why now?"

At this, Carver seemed to become reluctant to speak. "I have my reasons. It's personal." He shrugged.

"That ain't goin' to cut it." Victor said darkly.

The assassin considered this. He didn't want to divulge that information but trust was a key factor if this was going to work. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "My wife gave birth to our first child a few weeks ago." He said, avoiding eye contact with anyone in the room. "We moved to a relatively open minded island in the Pacific Ocean. We're left alone mostly and that makes it easier, but it's only a matter of time until they find out. I won't let any harm come to my son."

"He's a mutant." Xavier said.

Carver glanced up at the leader of the X-men. He nodded curtly. "Yes." He said. "He doesn't even look completely human. He's difficult to hide. Anyone looking at him would know what he is. I'll do whatever it takes to keep my son safe. If ending this means I can keep my family together, I'll have no qualms betraying the men and women who started this war."

Xavier nodded thoughtfully. "We're going to need all of those recordings," He said, "And we'll have to start getting a case together."

Noah Carver smiled. "That's not a problem." He said, "I can get you the best team of lawyers in the world. I've been in this business since I was nineteen. And I've been saving my money since then. All I need is a little time to access it. I've got accounts all over the world, Kaman Islands, Geneva, Monaco, you name it. To get all my finances together will take a few weeks, three probably. You think you can hold out that long?"

"We have so far." Xavier replied.

"Good." He said, pleased. Carver reached into his pocket once more and took out what looked like a blackberry. "Take this too. It's a little something I cooked up. I planted bugs in the offices of Senator Harvey, Senator Kent and a few of the Project Wideawake's chair people. You can access the information from that. You'll see how deep this conspiracy goes. Trust me; you guys never stood a chance. Hewitt, on some level, knew that too. He thought that he could change what was happening, but there were too many forces at work against him."

Xavier nodded and Carver stood up. "I'll be back in a few weeks. See ya." With that, he left the room.

"That turned out well." Logan muttered. No one answered, but they all agreed.

* * *

**Okay so that's it for now. I'm almost at the end of this story. I think there's only going to be one more chapter and a short epilogue, but I might group them in together.**


	14. Chapter 14

There are times when the universe is quiet, when nothing great or terrible happens, when everything is at peace. That is not to say that incidents do not occur; a father of six may win the lottery, a mother of two may die, a town may get a new community centre or a young director may make the biggest film of the year. These things can all occur during those times when the universe is quiet and non-motile, but they are hardly worth mentioning. Good or bad, the world will not be affected. The lives of the individual or the few will not change anything.

Then there are times when the universe is not. The silent ebb and flow of time rushes forth in a great effort of movement and suddenly, everything that happens leads intrinsically into each other. These are the times when the flap of a butterfly's wings can cause a hurricane, or when a twitch of a rabbit's ear can lead to floods. These are times when everything happens in a dizzying rush of succession and the whole world is caught up in the flow.

This was undoubtedly one of those times.

From the moment the trial started, an uneasy ceasefire had been promised. No fighting had taken place for months as a new kind of war was born in the court of law, a war of words and facts, injustices and defences.

Logan had no place in that war, and neither did Victor. They were, for the first time since the fighting had started, out of the loop and useless. Not that they didn't still help out and they were still certainly told things, but this was never their forte and neither felt comfortable in a position like that. They took over the roles as guardians, making sure mutants were safe and happy—a role that was now redundant in everything but name since there was no more fighting, no more danger.

In such an important time, they were bored.

* * *

Logan woke up early one morning to find that the bed across from his, Victor's bed, was empty. Unlike the usual turn of events, where Victor would have his sheets thrown to the floor, in a heap that resembled a badger's nest, the bed was now made to the perfect standard of an army official. Surprised by the strange behaviour, Logan quirked a brow and ripped the covers off of himself, going to investigate the disappearance of his brother.

It was early. Victor, and now Logan, had risen before the sun. It was dark as Logan followed the scent of his brother out of their subterranean home and onto the quiet street. Victor was there, standing serenely amidst the early morning fog, staring out at the nothingness of the night sky.

Logan thought he might know why Victor was behaving as such.

He thought he knew, because it was possible he felt the same way.

Victor stiffened when Logan moved beside him; he had been so caught up in his thoughts, Logan's presences startled him. He looked over at his brothers knowing face and grimaced.

"It ain't what it looks like." Victor tried to explain, worried about his brother's reaction.

In truth, it _was_ what it looked like. Victor wanted to return to the wild. That longing had hit Logan too. Their inner beasts had been dormant for too long and now they reared their heads at the thought of leaving their permanent residence in civilisation.

"It's okay, Victor." Logan replied, glancing up to the sky too.

It was hard to describe the feeling of being 'pulled' towards the wilderness. It was strong and demanding and as natural as anything they had ever done. Logan sometimes thought he could hear a wolverine's howl within the depths of his mind when he thought about returning to the wild. He was sure Victor experienced the same thing; since it was he who had always been more attuned to his inner animal.

Victor's face formed a scowl. "I don't know what you were thinkin' of," He said, "I was jus' thinkin' about what we had to do tomorrow—nothin' else."

He brushed past looking and began walking back.

Victor, for all the wrongs he had done over the years, went embarrassingly soft around his baby brother—even still. He knew this was Logan's place; with these people, fighting for this cause. He couldn't drag him away from the contentedness he had found in that life. How would he be able to live with himself? How would he be able to live with a resentful Logan? It wouldn't work. It was better to just quell whatever desire he had and leave well enough alone.

But Logan was never one to leave well enough alone and Victor knew there was no chance of that happening.

"You want to leave." Logan called after the retreating back of Victor.

Victor stopped and turned around with a hostile scowl. "The hell?" He asked, "Nah, I'm happy here, don't go projectin' yer feelin's onto me."

Logan's brow rose involuntary. He knew when Victor was lying, just like Victor knew when he lied. He sometimes didn't understand why they had to stumble around each other. Then again, it had always worked, so why not? So instead of voicing his opinion, Logan sighed, "It's gettin' stuffy around here ain't it?"

Victor frowned. He wondered if it meant what he thought it meant. "Yeah, I s'pose it is."

Logan continued, "Sometimes I think our... expertise might be put to better use somewhere else. We're not needed here."  
"Ya think?" Victor murmured, feeling embarrassingly hopeful.

Logan nodded. "Sure. The situation in Europe's still pretty bad. What with all the destruction and all."

"That's fer sure."

"We were never talkers," Logan mused, "I reckon it'd be much better for us to use our physical strength in giving aid to people; ya know, rebuildin' towns and all that stuff."

"Too damn right. We're jus' rottin' away out here. Least that's the way I see it." He tried to keep the excitement from his voice, but it was hard. He hadn't stayed this long in one place since he had been in GENISIS. He _needed_ to start moving again. Luckily, Logan did too—or at least he was humouring Victor enough to pretend.

Logan offered a small grin. Even after everything; the fights, the arguments, his amnesia—everything, it was still good to see Victor excited. Victor had done a lot for Logan over the years and the older he got the more Logan realised this. It was a debt that he could never repay, but he could at least ease it. As things were now, it was no big deal to pack their bags and leave. They weren't needed, they weren't necessary and there was no danger. Both Charles Xavier and Storm would understand and neither would condemn him for asking. If, for some reason, they disapproved then Logan would delay his plans and no harm would be done.

"I'll ask Chuck later to see if he's okay with it."

Victor nodded. For a moment he wanted to make a sarcastic remark about Logan being Xavier's little minion, but he realised that would be of no help to him in getting what he wanted. He stayed quiet. Besides, they weren't lone wolves anymore, they were a part of the X-men, it wouldn't be right to just pack up and leave without a word. Victor never thought he'd see the day when he cared about other people, but here it was. The last fifty years had changed him. He was turning more and more into his little brother as the days went by.

Victor almost groaned aloud at the thought of it.

"Well," Logan said, breaking his brother's thoughts, "I'm goin' back to bed. It's way too early fer me."

Victor nodded but opted to stay outside. "Go ahead, princess," He called out over his shoulder as his brother walked away, "Go and get yer beauty sleep. Wouldn't want you to get cranky now, would we?"

Logan didn't answer Victor's playful taunts but he was sure he heard his little brother mutter "Go to hell." As he disappeared inside.

Victor chuckled and went back to staring at the night sky.

* * *

If Charles Xavier had been surprised by Logan's request the next morning, he certainly didn't show it. With an infinite and infallible knowledge, Xavier had nodded stating that he had been expecting such a request and immediately granted an indefinite leave. They had left later that day, Victor saying goodbye to Sage and all the other people he had—grudgingly—learned to care about. Logan too took his time departing. Marie had been sad to see him go, but she was used to his ways by then and understood that such a disappearance was inevitable. They flew on one of the X-men's jets to Europe.

Victor and Logan got to work immediately. They were familiar enough with the continent to know the areas and so they wasted little time sight-seeing and stopping off in resorts. They got straight to work.

"Europe sure has changed." Victor muttered as he looked out the window of the passenger seat. He looking out at a huge banner that hung across the entrance of the village they were passing through. It said; "mutants welcome." It also said the same thing in Russian, German, French and Italian. These flags were commonplace around the continent now. Towns and villages hung their support on full display. Of course, not all of those flags were inspiring, some clearly stated that; "mutants will be persecuted" in all the same languages as those of the other flags. While it gave a very clear impression of a continent divided, it certainly did let them know where they stood when they passed through towns.

"No kiddin'" Logan answered eventually, "Wasn't even this bad during the war."

"Which one?"

Logan snorted, "Both."

"Won't argue with that," Victor muttered, "It's a bloody mess out there."

Europe had always been known for the preservation of the ancient civilisations; old buildings and new had always been integrated perfectly while the ruins were used to the point of exploitation as tourists flocked towards some of the best known remains. Yet now there were more ruins. The death of a more modern civilisation had occurred on these lands and some day there might even be businesses devoted solely to showing people around them.

"It's hard to believe things couldv'e gotten so bad here." Victor said with a sigh.

"It's the same as anywhere else, I reckon, we just remember this place being so different."

They were silent for a few moments as they drove through the village and continued on one of the roads that led through the Paris Basin.

"Hey Jimmy?" Victor asked,

Logan grunted as he swerved to avoid a branch that had fallen on the road.

"You remember the Battle of Sambre?" He asked with a smirk and a half-chuckle.

Logan laughed, "Yeah, I remember."

"That was fun." Victor said.

"Damn embarrassin', you mean."

"Yeah, that too."

The Battle of Sambre had been a hard battle—apparently. It was one of the great battles of World War I and a great many men had died on both sides that day. There may have been a few more or less had they actually showed up in the end. They hadn't meant to go AWOL. In fact, they had no desire to do so whatsoever. Not that their commanding officers had believed them. They had been called spineless cowards with no patriotism and a disgrace to their country. But it had not been cowardice that led to their absence, rather it had all boiled down to the bad map skills and poor orienteering methods of the two brothers. In short, they had gotten lost. They rarely travelled with the other soldiers and only caught up with them when the fighting was about to start, but on this occasion things had gone bottoms up and they arrived late. So late, in fact, that the battle was over.

Naturally, due to disobeying orders, they were both court marshalled and given to the firing squad to be shot at dawn. Needless to say, the bullets weren't nearly as effective as the British army might have hoped and their survival—and inhuman healing—had led to a few questions. Questions that neither Logan nor Victor had felt particularly inclined to answer. They had to skip out of the rest of the First World War soon after that.

"None of those antics now, though." Victor mentioned off-handedly.

"S'pose not."

"Damn..." Victor muttered, "I'll be mighty peeved if we don't get those medals after this. Bein' the model soldier ain't as easy as it looks. I deserve _two_ damn medals at this stage."

"I'll be sure to mention that to Chuck when all this is over." Logan snickered.

"Be sure that you do." Victor agreed as he snuggled himself further down into the chair to get comfy.

They drove in silence until they came to the next village. It was a mutant friendly village and it was utterly ruined. There were a few buildings standing, but mostly people were living out of small, temporary housing that made the probably once quaint town look more like a shanty town in the middle of slum lands. The whole town, however, seemed to be working towards rebuilding the place, as every single person was busying themselves with one thing or other.

"Let's see if we can help." Logan suggested and Victor nodded.

Logan slowed the car to a stop and turned off the engine. Most people slowed what they were doing and snuck covert glances with slight suspicion over at the two newcomers.

"Here we go again." Victor said under his breath as they got out of the car to deal with another mistrustful village.

* * *

It was hard work, rebuilding a town from scratch. Hard work and a hell of a lot of hassle. Things were never simple during times of post-war. People were tired from worry and fear and in general, they couldn't seem to do a lot. Supplies were short and transport was not altogether perfect yet either, so really, even if they had been ready and willing to work, they would be constantly hindered by the lack of materials. Having the help of two fit, strong and energetic mutants, however, was a great help to the village people—or at least, that's what they all constantly claimed.

After years of being in the army, matched with their own already existing single-mindedness towards a task, Victor and Logan became extremely focused when working. They didn't take rest breaks or tea breaks; they took lunch and dinner on the go and worked full force until they stopped late into the night. They were, for all intents and purposes, a godsend, and by the end of their time there, anyone who had been undecided about mutants was decidedly pro-homo-superior.

It was on their last day in the small village that they were approached by the village mayor and his daughter. The mayor started speaking to them in rapid French with an excited tone. Logan and Victor stopped what they were doing and turned to the mayor, looking at him blankly as the man fired off foreign words at them as if a machinegun was stuck in his mouth. When the man finished speaking and started looking at them expectantly, Logan felt compelled to give some sort of answer.

"Uh..." He said as he scratched his head.

"My father says that we are grateful to the both of you for your work in rebuilding our town. He says that you are always welcome in our village and if you ever want anything from any of the villager's shops you make take it without giving money."

"You speak English?" Victor said, surprised. The mayor's daughter was a twenty-something year old that never spoke to anyone, in English or in French. She worked as hard as the next person but she was a stark contrast to the almost over-bearing friendliness of her father.

"Is it not clear?" She asked. There was no sarcasm in her voice, but they could both tell it was there.

"Tell your father that we're grateful fer the offer, but we didn't help to get a reward." Logan said, ignoring the girl's behaviour.

She actually appeared happier once Logan told her they weren't looking for free stuff and she started speaking as rapidly as her father in her native tongue. The man too, looked happy. Chuffed with the outcome he started speaking again and reached over to shake both Logan's and Victor's hands.

"What did he say?" Victor asked when the daughter didn't translate.

"He said you were..." She paused as she tried to translate the word, "Ah, _comment-dit? ..._ 'Samaritans', I think, yes?"

"I guess." Logan shrugged.

"Yes, that is right. He says... you are living saints, for travelling around and helping people. He says that he will not forget the work you have done. The people of this town will tell anyone who comes through here, of the aid you have given to us." She didn't seem particularly overjoyed to be giving them compliments, for whatever reason, but her father's happiness seemed to negate her negative demeanour as he nodded along with what she was saying, as if he actually understood a word.

"Thanks."

The mayor smiled warmly, "_De rien, de rien_," He said and that was the last that Logan could understand as the man spoke faster and quieter then.

The girl sighed. "He says that you do not need to leave immediately. You can remain for as long as you want. This village will be your house for as long as you wish and these people will invite you warmly."

"We would," Victor said, "But there's a lot o' other people who need help, ya know?"

The girl nodded and surprisingly said, "Then I wish you _bon chance_, Samaritans." It was perhaps the first sincere thing she had said to them and they had no idea why. The mayor said goodbye to the brothers through his daughter then and from there, they made their separate ways. They didn't think they'd ever return to that little French village—and they were right, but strangely enough, it would later play a large role in the future of Logan and Victor.

* * *

They had travelled for days before they found another mutant-liking town and decided to offer their services. The town wasn't in nearly as bad a shape as the last one they had stopped in, but the people were happy enough to accept their help either way. Logan and Victor carried out the same process as before; working hard all day and resting only late into the night. Like before, it was appreciated. Their efficiency meant that they were soon finished rebuilding the town and though there was still some work to be done, the minor details would be left to the townsfolk. They decided to rest a day in the town before they carried on with their journey.

It was during that time that they got a call from Storm.

Logan looked down at his mobile phone as it vibrated in his hand and rang with an annoying tango tune. "It's Storm." He muttered.

"Well answer it," Victor demanded agitatedly, "I hate that damn music."

Logan let it ring once more out of spite before he answered it. "Storm?" He said, "Is everything alright?"

"Logan, it's good to hear from you; things have been dull without Victor around to threaten the kids."

Logan 'humphed' in amusement. "Yeah, I bet. So what's up? Has something gone wrong?"

"No, no, no. No, everything's fine, I just called to check up on you, see if you're still alright and to keep you informed on the latest new."

"Oh yeah? And what's that then?"

"Well, things are finally going our way. Things have been hard for us, these past six months, but finally, we've had a turn for the better."

"How'd you mean?"

"Well, as you know, our team of legal advisors told us to keep a few aces up our sleeves so that we didn't give the members of Project Wideawake time to devise some clever ploy to make the jury disregard all our evidence. So far, all we've shown them is the information from the mainframe you and Victor took from Monument Valley. This was sort of like an introduction to our case, is you will. We wanted to show the jury the dirty dealings of Project Wideawake, we wanted to establish it as corrupt. As we suspected, they gave an admirable defense and probably turned the majority of the jury against us. We've just spent these last few months making sure they didn't outright hate us. Now though, the information we've been keeping can come out. Soon we're going to bring Noah Carver to the stand and back him up with all of the tapes he made. They won't expect it and they won't be able to pull off anything more than a flawed attempt at defending. We've even secretly called for an expert to verify that the tapes are authentic and not tampered with. With this, it's possible we can finally end the war. We can go back to a peaceful co-existence."

"Yer sure this will work? I mean, Project Wideawake probably won't roll over and take this. They're sure to try somethin' ain't they?"

Storm was quiet for a moment before she spoke. "Yes, I was thinking along those lines myself, but really, what can they do that won't make them look even guiltier?"

Logan nodded, "Yeah, yer right. But that doesn't mean they still won't do somethin' stupid. Do you need us to come back?"

Victor looked up from the TV he was watching and regarded Logan unhappily. They might be going back? But he liked all that travelling. He didn't want to go back. Victor frowned, but didn't say anything and instead, he stuck to silently wishing Storm would not say yes.

"No. That's not necessary. You and Victor have already gone above and beyond the call of duty. No, you should stay where you are, keep what you're doing. It's quiet here, for now anyway, and we have plenty of capable people, so don't worry about it. Actually, since the trial started we've been receiving more outside support."

"Outside support?" Logan asked.

"Humans," Storm supplied, "They've been venturing to the city and giving us things. Most of the things are useless; casseroles and other homemade dishes, but it's the thought that counts. The token of support is much better than anything else. Of course, not everyone is on our side, but at least we know we have some supporters." Storm sighed in relief, "I must admit, it makes things so much easier. I never realised how hard it was to be truly hated until this war started."

Logan nodded, "Yeah, tough stuff, alright." He agreed, "It pretty much the same here; villages and towns are publicly showing if they're for or against mutants. It makes things easier."

"You mean with those banners and flags that they hang up?" Storm asked.

"Yeah, that's it."

"I saw them on the news," She said, "They've started to do it here too. Not every town, mind you, but there are a few who have taken the practice up. At this stage, it's mostly towns that are against mutants though. Still, it _is_ helpful, I suppose."

"That's fer sure." Logan agreed.

"So, Logan, how are you keeping?" Storm changed the subject then, showing true, honest emotion in her voice.

"Not bad," He told her, "Haven't worked this hard fer years, to be honest. We've been goin' around mutant supportin' towns; helpin' to rebuild any damage that's been done or offerin' our services if there haven't been any. It's tirin', fer sure, but it's a helluva lot better than just sittin' around all day."

"I'm glad to hear that, Logan, it's good to see you happy."

"Thanks, Storm." Logan replied, slightly bemused.

There was a slight pause, "Well, anyway I have to go, it's time to start work here."

"Yeah, alright Storm, I'll talk to ya later then."

"Bye."

Logan hung up the phone and looked at it for a few moments. Storm was acting just slightly 'off'. He wondered what that was about. Hell, it probably wasn't much of a mystery; she was probably exhausted with everything that was going on.

"What was that about?" Victor asked in a bored voice, as if he hadn't heard practically every single word.

"Just business." Logan muttered, knowing Victor didn't really care.

Victor nodded. "Cool." He said as he changed the television station. By a strange coincidence, the channel Victor switched to was a documentary. It was in French and neither of them could understand the narrator but at that moment the scene changed to an interview with Eliza Murs, one of the heads of Project Wideawake. It wasn't an official interview; clearly a reporter had managed to catch her as she hurried down the steps of what looked like the court of justice. Although the program was in French, the interview had clearly been done by an American man. There were French subtitles down the bottom as they spoke.

"_How can you justify all that money that's been moved around from bank to bank?"_ The reporter asked, shoving a microphone into Ms. Murs' face.

She looked extremely angry and disgusted. It showed up easily on her face and ruined whatever beauty she had under all the plastic surgery.

"_Anything that we at Project Wideawake have done," _She answered,_ "Has been done with the best interests of our country in mind. We are not a selfish organization and saying as such is a ludicrous statement."_

The reporter grunted before continuing to ask his questions, _"And what about what the X-men have said? They accused you of starting this war for your own monetary gain. What of that?"_

Eliza Murs sneered, _"I don't __**care**__ what the '__**X-men**__' say about us,"_ she said their name as if it tasted foul in her mouth, _"We have done no such thing and these false allegations against us are simply heinous. It is a crime that we have been accused of such things when the '__**X-men**__' themselves have given very little evidence for half of what they claim."_

"_So you claim to be innocent then?" _ The reporter asked.

Ms. Murs nodded, _"We have never acted out of selfish means and never will. The rest of the board and I are good people. Storm and her '__**X-men**__' are simply looking for a scapegoat. We do not deserve such treatment."_

"_Just one more thing—"_ The reported tried, but was interrupted.

Murs held up her hand. _"I'm busy, you've already taken too much of my time. Excuse me."_ She hurried away then, the camera took a few seconds to follow her retreating form before the scene changed again and Victor lost interest. He turned off the TV.

"I was watchin' that." Logan complained.

Victor scowled, "You can't understand a word of it. Like hell you'd even be interested in ten minutes. I'm bloody tired. I'm goin' to bed."

Logan watched as Victor climbed into one of the single beds in the room they were staying in. He watched as Victor snuggled under the covers and turned his back to his brother. Logan sighed and proceeded to do the same.

But sleep didn't come. Logan wondered about what he saw; this woman, Eliza Murs, was one of the top people of Project Wideawake. She one of the faces of the devil that had haunted the mutant race for years. It wasn't like he was new to experiencing the human race's actions, but he was disturbed to find the everyday common appearance of someone who had condemned a whole species to death.

Logan lay on his back and stared at the ceiling for a long time, trying to clear his thoughts and relax his body so that he could finally get some well deserved rest. But sleep didn't come for a long time that night and the words of Eliza Murs whirled around in his head restlessly.

* * *

At that same time, thousands of kilometers away, the heads of Project Wideawake were sitting in a meeting room, arguing about what should happen next.

"There has to be more to their offence than just what they've been using, no one is stupid enough to take us on head to head like that." Richard Luxor was saying.

"Nonsense," Chester Conrad denied, "They're mutants; I'm amazed they can even manage to navigate the legal system on their own."

There were one or two sniggers at Conrad's joke but Fabian Slavko frowned, "I wouldn't underestimated them," He warned, "Their leaders are strong and smart, think of Ororo Monroe and the newly rediscovered Charles Xavier—people said that he was dead. We have to be careful."

"I wouldn't worry about Ororo Monroe," Eliza Murs sneered in an ugly way, "She's all appearance, but she has nothing up here." She pointed to her forehead.

Charlotte Vulpes spoke next, "What about that assassin, is there any way we could be connected to him?"

Senator Harvey was on loudspeaker as he had been unable to attend. He was calling from his office. "We've tried to track down the assassin ourselves," Harvey answered his colleague's question, "But he's hidden himself deep. Rest assured; if we can't find him, the X-men sure as hell can't. Besides, they don't even know that we were behind that assassinations, they still think it was a group of rogue mutants."

"That's true. I don't think we have anything to worry about." Said Senator Kent.

The only man not to speak had been sitting at the head of the table quietly. Rubbing his chin as he considered the situation. His name was Elton Rosewood. He was an older man, with thin white hair that sat upon almost translucent skin on his head. He had bruises on his hands and neck and age spots on his face and scalp. His eyes, over the years, had whitened due to cataracts and his neck seemed to slump into his shoulders. He was old, and his body was as decrepit as it could be without failing altogether, yet his mind was as sharp as it had ever been.

"The mutants pose no threat." He said finally, in a voice that suggested he had had a stroke sometime in the past, "We will continue on with our plans. It is unfortunate that we cannot actively do anything while this trial is on, but we can be prepared for when it does."

"But our funding…" Fabian Slavko tried to say.

"Nonsense!" Elton Rosewood spluttered, wiping a sliver of drool that escaped past his slightly numb lips with the sleeve of his expensive suit. "The government has cut our funding," He said, "They have not gotten rid of it altogether. We must take things at a slower pace that is all."

"And the assassin? Should we put our resources into finding him?"

"The assassin is no threat, he is a professional; he knows how to keep his mouth shut. But if he does raise his head from whatever gutter he's been hiding in; arrange to have him killed. I'd rather not have him hanging around with that sort of information."

"Yes sir." They all agreed in quiet tones.

"This meeting is dismissed." Elton Rosewood said as he struggled pathetically to get out of his chair. When he managed to stand up he opted for another seat; that of the motorized cart that he drove around in. It had an oxygen mask attached to it that he quickly put over his mouth and wheezed into. He drove the machine out of the main doors.

Slowly, the members of the board began to file out until there was only the speaker phone of Senator Harvey, Eliza Murs and Chester Conrad. They spoke lowly, but loud enough so that Senator Harvey could hear everything they said on his phone.

"The old man's not long for this world." Conrad said.

Eliza Murs nodded. "Not long, no." She agreed, "But he can still be a thorn in our sides in the limited amount of time he had left."

"Well what can we do about it? He's the boss. At the end of the day, he has last word."

"Perhaps we should… 'help' him on his journey." Murs suggested conspiratorially.

Chester Conrad grinned but Senator Harvey sounded horrified, "You're talking about murder!" He exclaimed.

Murs rolled her eyes. "Give it a rest." She said, "It's not like it's the first time you've been involved in a murder plot. David Hewitt was hardly beyond your knowledge."

"No, of course not, we all knew about Hewitt. But he was necessary, this…"

"Is also necessary. "Conrad interjected, "The old man is like a disease; he destroys everything he touches. He'll ruin everything we've planned."

"How?" Harvey asked, sounding genuinely confused.

Murs scoffed. "He's not interested in this Project like we are. He's only interested in gaining money to find a cure for the many terminal diseases in his body. He's not interested in getting rid of those… _creatures_ like we are. For the good of the company, I say we take Rosewood out."

"Here, here." Conrad agreed.

There was a tense moment of silence while they waited for Senator Harvey to speak, "For the good of the company." He agreed hesitantly.

"Excelent." Murs said, "We are one step closer then."

"How do we kill Rosewood?" Conrad asked eagerly.

Eliza Murs smirked. "Leave that to me; I know people that can get me poisons that will make it look like he died from a heart attack. The only thing keeping me from administering the drug to the old coot this minute is that we've had to take precautions to ensure our anonymity."

"What about the rest of the board, though?" Harvey asked, "What will happen to us if they find out we killed Mr. Rosewood? We're bound to be next."

"They won't find out, Harvey." Conrad sneered.

"They will." Murs answered nonchalantly.

Conrad's eyes flickered towards her in a sudden motion of panic. Before he could ask what was going on, Senator Harvey beat him to it. "But we'll be killed! What's going on? I thought it was supposed to look like a heart attack."

"It will," Eliza Murs said with a confident nod, "It needs to look natural for the outside world. So that no one is suspicious and there's no police investigation; Lord knows we don't need any more attention on us. But in here, this is _our_ world, we control it. Some of the other board members can be turned. Those who can't will be killed. As it is, with Rosewood out of the picture, that leaves seven us. We only need one more person on our side to be in the majority. Any other members will either have to join us or die."

"Who can we turn?" Harvey asked.

A small, sly grin touched Chester Conrad's lips. "You're good friends with Senator Kent, aren't you?" He asked.

"You want me to turn him?" Harvey asked, almost incredulously. It shouldn't have been that surprising, really, but he was still shocked.

"Of course, we do," Answered Eliza Murs, "You think you can just sit there and _not_ help out with our plan? Your loyalty isn't enough; we need your participation too."

"I understand," said Senator Harvey, gloomily, "He shouldn't be too hard to turn; he has often expressed concerns for Mr. Rosewood's capabilities. Just… give me a few days. He's stubborn, and if it sounds like I'm preaching to him he won't accept."

"That's fine, Senator." Murs replied.

"Who do you think will accept our preposition?" Harvey spoke again after a moment.

"I don't think it will take much to convince Luxor—provided we have the majority, that's for sure." Conrad said.

"Vulpes will never agree to it." Murs said confidently, "She's practically in the old man's right hand. It's better to have her out of the way than to worry about her later."

"But Slavko?" Conrad mused.

"It's difficult to say with Slavko." Harvey muttered. "He's loyal by nature, and I think he has feelings for Vulpes."

"We'll give him his chance." Eliza Murs said quickly, "If he says 'no', then we'll have our answer. Now, gentlemen, "She said as she stood up, "I have an appointment to get to. Excuse me."

She exited quickly out of the room.

"It's good to know that we have someone capable to lead us in the cause." Senator Harvey noted.

Chester Conrad snorted. "She doesn't care about 'the cause' any more than Rosewood does. She's as much in it for the money as him. I wouldn't be surprised if the only reason she's even planned this little revolt is to cut the money she has to share with the rest of us."

"If you knew this, why would you follow her?"

Conrad gave a cold smile, "Because she's ruthless enough to actually be a good leader. She wants money and we want to get rid of mutants. For the moment our paths run parallel to each other."

"But what happens when our paths diverge?"

"She'll betray us." Conrad said easily, with complete confidence. "Or she'll try to kill us. People like her always do."

Harvey grunted. "We'll have to be on guard then. There'll come a day when we'll no longer be useful to her." He said.

"My thoughts exactly." Conrad muttered. "But now isn't the right moment to talk about this; we have plenty of time, don't worry, we'll devise some sort of plan."

"You're right, friend. I should go. Senator Kent won't convince himself to betray Mr. Rosewood."

"Yes. Goodbye, Senator." Conrad too, left the room.

It took another moment for Senator Harvey to hang up the phone with a click.

* * *

Hundreds of kilometers away from that, two people sat in a small, but comfortable office. One was a man and the other was a woman. The woman was dark skinned with white hair, she was a mutant, she was the previous leader of the X-men and she was silent. That was Storm. She looked down at the device in her hands before clicking the 'off' button that stopped the recording. The man in the room had pale skin, brown hair and was in a body much too young for him, he was also the current leader of the X-men. That was Charles Xavier. He watched Storm push the button with thoughtful eyes.

They had heard everything that happened in that meeting thanks to the bug that Noah Carver had placed on Senator Harvey's phone. Everything was as clear and audible as if they had been in the room themselves. With such a great amount of knowledge, it took a little while to digest. So they sat in silence for a while, wondering what to do with this new information.

"If nothing else," Storm said finally, "We can use this as conspiracy of murder. That means we can get at least three of the Project Wideawake board members put into prison."

"Yes." Xavier agreed. "We could do that."

"We also have to inform Noah Carver that he's in danger from them. I'll arrange to send a message for him to stay low until the trial."

"Yes, do that." He agreed again.

"We could use this as a piece of evidence our main trial too," Storm continued, "It shows that Eliza Murs and Elton Rosewood were purely in this for money. It will further back up Noah's statement and his own tapes."

"A good idea." Xavier said.

Storm sighed, "What are you thinking?" She asked, knowing his head was somewhere far away.

"Ah, forgive me, Storm." He apologized, " I really do agree with you that we need to do everything you suggested, but those three people they were talking about, Charlotte Vulpes, Fabian Slavko and Elton Rosewood, will be dead in a few days, we have to do something to save them."

Storm nodded, "But if we show them the tape, they'll know we've been listening in on them. It could ruin our upper hand. We can't risk the lives of millions for three people. The same three who started this war in the first place."

"We have to forgive their actions and move on. At the end of the day, they're still people."

"How can I forgive them, Charles?" Storm asked with a melancholy sigh, "They've condemned us to death, they'd see us extinct. For no other reason than money and their 'cause'."

"I can't agree with your view, but I understand it, Storm. However, if it is in our power to help these people, we can't stand by and let them die."

"Yes, you're right. What do you think we should do?"

"I think we should anonymously send this tape to the media. They won't be able to help themselves but to publish it. That way, although people may suspect it was us, they'll never have any proof. Not to mention the members of Project Wideawake will be alerted and it will further help our cause of showing just how corrupt and amoral they are."

Storm thought about it for a moment. "Yes," She said eventually, "Okay. I'll arrange for someone to drop it off and then I'll ring Noah and tell him to watch his back from Project Wideawake."

"Thank you Storm."

Storm stood up. "I hope this works." She said softly as she walked out of the room.

"I do too." Charles Xavier admitted to the empty office.

The months that followed were hectic. Despite Noah Carver's prediction, Christmas came and went without any sign of the war ending. The trial took longer than they ever could have imagined and the news of the daily happenings assimilated into the everyday lives of the world. People would come home from work and turn on the news. They would then discuss what was happening with their spouse or partner, parents or friends. Sometimes people wondered what they did before the war started and the great trial took place. People began to take sides, pro or against mutants. Yet as the trial went on, more and more people began to come over to the side of 'pro mutants'.

When the tape of Project Wideawake's betrayal of each other made it to the ears of the public there was anger, hatred and riots. People who had believed their words were now as betrayed as the board members who were supposed to be killed. After the riots had calmed down and it was safe to walk the streets again, a most peculiar thing happened.

It was a muggy summer's night when Storm and Charles Xavier were running through the next day's trial with Noah Carver that they heard a knock on the door.

"Come in." The professor said.

Marie entered, looking uncertain. "There's someone here ta see yah." She said.

They shared a glance. Who had come to see him? Very few people would need to be introduced to feel welcome, so who could it be?

Marie took an uneasy step back outside and two people entered; a man and a woman. Immediately, Noah Carver and Storm were on their feet defensively.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Carver demanded, fingering a knife in his pocket.

"You!" Fabion Slavko of Project Wideawake exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Charlotte Vulpes put a hand on her colleague's shoulder. "It doesn't matter." She said, "We know you have no reason to trust us, but we can help you."

"How?"

"We're willing to testify against Project Wideawake. We'll tell the court everything."

"Why are you helping us?"

"We were betrayed, you heard the tape." Slavko ground out.

Xavier nodded, "But why now, why not months ago when the tape was released."

Vulpes sighed. "We ran away from the organisation when we heard the tape. Mr. Rosewood helped us out by taking us with him on his private jet. We've always been loyal to him and he, in turn, saved our lives. But last week..." Her voice shook and she stopped talking.

Fabian Slavko took over, "He died." He said grimly, "Mr. Rosewood asked us before he passed away that we get those traitors away from his company, that we avenge him. This is how we've decided to do it."

"If you testify, you'll be admitting to all of your crimes. You could go to prison." Storm said.

"The same goes for him." Vulpes challenged.

"I'm doing this for my family." Noah said defensively.

"And so are we." Slavko answered.

To explain, Vulpes elaborated. "Mr. Rosewood was like a father to us. He took us in when we were kids. We were living on the streets before that. We owe him everything. The rest of the board never knew what he had done for us and they could never understand why were so loyal to him. We don't hate mutants. Neither did Mr. Rosewood. As terrible as it sounds, he just saw a business opportunity and went with it."

There was a long stretch of silence, so long that the two members of Project Wideawake felt the need to start defending their case again. They were about to speak when Xavier beat them to it.

"You're sure you're both willing to testify?"

They nodded. "We can do it tomorrow if that's what you want." Slavko said.

"In that case, welcome to the X-men."

* * *

The next day had been the day they were waiting for. Their lawyer called up Noah Carver to the stand. There were gasps of shock and awe as the man appeared with a cocky swagger and swore to "tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth". They knew his name at this stage, the men and women of the jury and the members of the gallery and his presence made more than one person shiver in fear. In his defence, he really _did_ speak the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. He told the court clearly and confidently that he had killed David Hewitt under the employment of Project Wideawake. The tapes he had made were also put on display and he answered flawlessly any questions that were given to him by the frazzled defence. When asked why he would throw away his career, he even mentioned that someone very close to him was a mutant. When they could think of no more questions he was allowed to sit down. Then they called the next witness up to the stand, Charlotte Vulpes. If Noah Carver had surprised people with his presence, Charlotte certainly shocked them.

Again, she answered questions like clockwork, giving clear and precise answers that damned Project Wideawake more and more with every word. She spoke of their plans, of their betrayals and of their reason's for everything. Later, Fabian Slavko did the same. By the end of the day, Project Wideawake looked as if they were to be decimated.

Yet appearances were not everything and when the jury was asked by the judge to consider everything they heard and to come to a decision, the whole courtroom was tense. It took four hours for the jury to decide the verdict. When they came back into the room, the air was downright non-existent in the room. Storm could barely breathe as she watched in apprehension. Xavier was wringing his hands unconsciously and the remaining members of Project Wideawake that were on trial looked pale and frightened.

Eventually, the spokesperson for the jury stood up and cleared his throat.

"After much deliberation," He, a middle-aged man, said, "We of the jury found the defendant to be guilty."

There was a surreal moment of stillness before it was broken by the heart-wrenching scream of Eliza Murs as she tried to deny the verdict.

Storm almost wept as she chocked on her own relief and Xavier closed his eyes gratefully. The courtroom exploded in applause and cheers as the members of Project Wideawake were sentenced to top security prisons for the rest of their days. They were then dragged out of the room by the burly bailiffs, all the while screaming and shouting at the mutants in the room and cursing the justice system.

"Congratulations, Storm." Professor Xavier said softly before people rushed forward to shake their hands.

"Congratulations, Charles." Storm whispered, though her words were drowned by the sounds of the cheering crowds.

The news spread around the world in seconds. Soon, people would start to call that day, the 25th of June by the name P Day, Peace Day. But that wouldn't happen for another little while. At that moment, Storm and Charles Xavier left the courtroom with their heads held high, walking outside to finally address the reporters as free people.

Storm stood to the side as Xavier gave a speech that would undoubtedly go down in history.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the world," Xavier spoke into the many microphones on the small podium, "Today I stand before you, not as a mutant or a human, but as a man, a free person. Mutants have suffered a great deal over the years, but that is the past. Today, a new world has been created, a new world where we can begin again, reassess our views and change our perspectives. We still have a lot of work to do—and it will not be easy, but we will succeed, we will rise above these obstacles and we will triumph."

In Belgium, Logan and Victor were watching the speech from the TV in their room. Xavier's speech had been broadcasted all over the world, on every channel.

"_We do not wish to make demands,"_ Xavier continued, _"We want integration, we want unity and we want peace. We will relinquish our hold on Massachusetts and go back to living as we had before this war broke out. It is my hope that there will be no place that is taboo for man or mutant to cross. We have already achieved so much in this world, together with our forces combined, we can go even further, we can push the boundaries of what we thought we could and could not do. It is my profound wish that above all else, today will be the day that marks a reform in our society, the event which led us to overcome our greatest obstacle yet; ourselves. Now, standing here before you, I will make a promise; I swear to not rest until my wish has come true and we have consolidated an era of peace. Thank you for your time and your support."_

Logan and Victor watched the television screen as Xavier stepped down off of the podium and he and Storm made their way through the cheering crowds and disappeared into their car.

Eventually, the scene changed to a panel of 'professionals' that were discussing the impact of today's events. Victor mindlessly turned off the TV. They had heard enough. They sat in silence for a very long time, the clock on the wall the only thing to break up the time spent without purpose.

Finally, Victor stood up, went to his bag and took out two beer bottles. Wordlessly, he handed one to Logan, who took it in silence.

"Happy Peace Day, little brother." Victor said as he popped the cap off and raised his bottle.

"Happy Peace Day, Victor." Logan replied, clinking the end of his bottle off of Victor's.

They both took a long swig.

It was over.

At long last.

**Okay, that's it. Hope you enjoyed it. There's going to be one more post, a short epilogue and then this story will be finally finished after a whole year. It's actually kinda sad for me; I'm going to miss writing this. Anyway, tell me what you think.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Just q quick epilogue to wrap this story up. Enjoy.**

The little copper bell on the door to the coffee shop chimed softly as it opened. Logan came through the door with a newspaper tucked under his arm. He looked around for a moment before spotting a free table in the corner. He walked through the small establishment and sat down, putting his newspaper on the table.

"What can I get for you?" A short, blond waitress asked.

"Black coffee." Logan said, "With milk."

The waitress nodded and rushed off to do that. Logan opened his newspaper. He was about to start reading when a sound caught his ear.

"Hey," A teenage girl whispered to her friend at the other end of the shop. "Isn't that..?" She asked but was shushed by her friend.

"Yes!" The friend said sharply, "Now be quiet, he can probably hear you."

They were both mutants, the girls, just like the majority of people these days. The evolution process had sped up and soon humans would be in the minority.

"Oh yeah..." The girl muttered.

Logan didn't react to the girl's interest in him; he was well used to it by this stage. He lightly shook his head and started to read his paper.

He looked on the front page. The bold print of the headlines spoke of good news; "_**O-zone finally fixed, environmentalists can rest at last"**_. Logan frowned, recognising the headline. He checked the date at the top of the paper. It claimed today was the 24th of June 2213. Logan scowled. He had picked up yesterday's paper by mistake.

"Damn." He muttered to himself as he put the paper down and watched as the waitress delivered his coffee. "I'm an idiot."

Logan took a sip of his coffee and added a sachet of sugar into it. He looked down at the newspaper longingly; reading the papers was the one thing he looked forward to these days. Now that was ruined. He had to admit, as petty as it seemed, he felt a bit glum.

He didn't have much these days apart from current events. Times were slow; there hadn't been any major wars since the war between humans and mutants all those years ago. The war whose name had been turned from The Great War, to World War Three. People seemed a little worn out after that. It was too much effort to fight about anything. It was because of that, Charles Xavier's proclamation on the steps of the court of justice had been easily realised. After that was sorted, Charles had gone back to teaching, having rebuilt Xavier manor and spent the rest of his days there. Storm had gone with him, of course. Later, she ended up marrying the mutant Black Panther and they'd had a few kids; all of which were the image of her. Marie had gone on her own 'soul-searching' trip back then as well, since it was safe to travel around the world again. She ended up in Vietnam working in an orphanage for mutants. Logan had been happy for her.

Fabian Slavko and Charlotte Vulpes had been sent to prison for a reduced sentence of two years and when they were released they over-took Project Wideawake and changed their mutant hating policies to making a multitude of different produce, everything ranging from high tech children's toys to expensive firearms. Noah Carver wasn't convicted of any crime, despite being guilty of more than people knew. Logan had been convinced that it was Noah's fault the evidence against him had been 'corrupted'. But then, Noah Carver had helped them and Logan wasn't going to stop the man being with his family.

Pretty much everything had ended well for everyone. They were all happy and lived well. But that was a long time ago—almost two hundred years. Storm and Xavier, Marie and Noah. They were dead. Everyone they had known in the X-men was dead. The X-men themselves were still around, the group had become popular after the war as a peace-keeping force and thousands of people, both mutant and human, had joined. The same had been said for the UML and the MPC.

Logan still sometimes missed the original people though. It was the first time he had ever had a home when he was with the X-men.

The bell above the door rang again and Logan half-turned in his seat to see Victor Creed march inside with a big entrance and an equally large grin. He strutted over to the counter.

"Gimme a coffee, sweetheart." He commanded as he then turned on his heel and sat down at the table across from Logan.

"Why'd you get yesterdays paper?" He asked as he spotted the headlines.

Logan scowled. "Shut up." He said and took an angry gulp of his coffee.

Victor looked at him for a moment and then shrugged. "Whatever." He said nonchalantly, "Anyway, Happy Peace Day, Jimmy."

Logan nodded. "Yeah, you too." He looked at Victor suspiciously. Victor was excited about something; he was practically bouncing in his chair. Logan wondered why.

His question was soon answered as Victor spoke. "Hey, guess what I found." He said eagerly.

Logan kept a carefully straight face as he answered. "Victor, if you bring home any more scrap metal I'm gonna—"

Victor held up his hands, "Nah, it's nothin' like that," He defended, bringing a bag up onto the table. It was the first time Logan realised Victor was carrying it. "Check it out."

Victor reached into his bag and took out a book, handing it to Logan. Logan took it and turned it around to read the title.

"A history of the 21st century?" He asked with a raised brow.

"Open it." Victor suggested gleefully.

Logan did. He flicked through a few pages and stopped.

"It's all about the Third World War."Victor explained, as if Logan couldn't read the page heading. "Go on, read it." He said as the waitress arrived with his own coffee.

Logan opened the preface and read it.

_Perhaps no one would ever know the exact events of the Third World War if not for the mutants alive today that lived through it and parted their knowledge unto me...  
_

Logan stopped reading. He looked up. "Victor, did you talk to this man?"

Victor nodded. "Sure did. He even gave me a special thanks in the acknowledgements. Have a look."

"Maybe later." Logan said but seeing Victor's face drop a little, he sighed and turned the page. "Yep, there it is." He said, unenthused.

Victor was happy again. "Keep reading." He urged.

Logan rolled his eyes and flicked a few pages forward until it got to the main text.

_Although official records state that the war started on...  
_

"No," Victor said, "Don't read that, it's boring, go forward"

Logan ignored him.

_In actual fact, the war was in the making long before then. Almost a whole decade before the war started, there were whispers of discontent. Many people believed that mutants should be controlled and contained. Professor Charles Xavier and Jean Grey were the two main voices for the mutant's defence, while the majority of Senators and other government officials were against them, the most prominent being...  
_

"Jimmy. Skip. Forward. That crap ain't interestin'." Victor urged.

Logan rolled his eyes, "Fine." He relented, knowing he'd get no peace otherwise, "Where d'you _want_ me to read, then?"

Victor reached over and snatched the book from his hands. He flicked through the pages until he found what he was looking for. "The rest is all just introductions and stuff, this is the real deal." He said as he handed the book back to Logan. Logan grabbed it and looked down at the book that was now on page seventy-three. The top of the page claimed that it was 'Chapter 6 The Warriors of the Mutant Side'.

"This section is what's called "Key personalities", Jimmy. It's my favourite chapter." Victor said. Logan could see why easily enough. All the headings were people's names. It didn't take long for him to find Victor's name. He started to read.

_Victor Creed was born in Alberta Canada in the early 1800s. He soon left home with his brother, James Howlett, who later became known as Logan, (see page 74). Together, they fought in the American Civil War(1861-1865), World War I (1914-1918), World War II (1939-1945) and The Vietnam War (1955-1975). They later joined Team-X, an elite military team of mutants led by Colonel Stryker(see page 87) and Creed stayed with the team until 1983 when the group was disbanded. He then joined the group GENISIS and stayed with them for six years until he left and then, a few years later, was involved in the Magneto incident of the early 2000's(see page 28). Little is known about the years after that, but he then appeared again on the scene just as the first troubles came out before the war. He was involved intrinsically in the war, both before and after. For his work around Europe with his brother, the two became known as the "Samaritans" and they received a medal of honour and courage each...  
_

Logan chuckled.

"What?" Victor asked.

"Of all the stuff we've done. All the horrible, awful names we've had, and 'Samaritans' is the one that stuck."

Victor shook his head in exasperation. He groaned. "Yeah I know; he might as well have castrated me then and there."

Logan grinned and started reading again. He skipped a few lines because he wasn't really as interested as he should have been, according to Victor.

_He travelled around the world, helping people in a manner that kept up with his namesake. He and his brother travelled for years until they broke apart and Creed returned to America and married Sage, former member of GENISIS and the leader of the Mutant Peace Corps (see page 76).  
_

There was a picture of Victor and Sage on the page. Logan took a few moments to study it. Victor was looking at it too. "I like that picture." He said.

Logan frowned and looked at his brother. Sage was another person who was long dead. Victor and Sage had married and lived happily together for the rest of her life. They had agreed that children would be a bad idea; the world didn't need any more feral mutants wandering around killing things and dealing with anger issues. It was a good, selfless choice, but it left Victor alone. Once again, he only had Logan. He had been in mourning for her for a long time, and in some ways, Logan still thought he was. But two hundred years was a long time and there was only so long Victor would allow himself to wallow.

"You okay?" Logan asked.

Victor nodded. "Fine." He said and then pointed to the book. Clearly Logan was supposed to read more.

_Fifty years later, Victor Creed returned to the X-men where he once again worked with Howlett, now the leader of the X-men, in many of the greatest events of the time; The Collapse of the Corporate Empire, the Battle against Hya-Jong and the confrontation at Hyde Pass. This continued for fifty more years before both Creed and Howlett relinquished their positions and travelled around the world. They have continued to do so to this day.  
_

Logan finished reading the article on Victor and put the book down.

"Well, what do you think?" Victor asked excitedly.

"Pretty cool." Logan replied only with half sincerity.

"Yeah, isn't it? We're famous Jimmy, how cool is that? There's a whole section on you too, it ain't as good though." He grinned.

"I'm sure." Logan commented.

"Kids'll be learnin' about us fer years to come. How cool is that?"

Logan nodded, "I must admit, there ain't a lot of people around who can claim to be able to see it with their own two eyes."

Logan was suddenly struck with their longevity. No one knew how long they would live, but it seemed as if it would be another while yet. A few months ago, Logan had been horrified to see he had a single hair that was considerably lighter than the rest. It wasn't grey yet, but it would be soon. He had been distraught until he realised that Victor's beard was starting to show one or two also. With that discovery, Victor had started shaving his beard again.

"Kinda makes you think about how old we are." Logan muttered.

Victor nodded solemnly. "Can't really claim to be one of the kids anymore." He agreed.

"True enough." Logan replied with a chuckle.

A lot of things had changed over the years. They had lost a lot of people; they had witnessed the rise and fall of societies and cultures. They were there when mutants were hunted and there when they became accepted. They were even able to see the long-term effects of such things. It wasn't an easy way to live, but it was damn interesting and all in all, Logan was glad Victor was his brother; it'd be mighty boring without him.

Logan stood up. "I gotta go," He said, "I want to get the papers before the shops close."

Sniggering, Victor stood up too. "Yer such an old man," He said, "Here, I'll come too."

"Now who's the old man?" Logan remarked.

Victor snorted but didn't reply. He was suddenly struck with a thought as they left the coffee shop and walked out onto the streets that were filled with more mutants than humans. "Oh yeah," He said, "I meant to tell ya; there making a movie of us."

Logan raised a brow. "Yer not serious."

"Sure am," Victor nodded, "They're callin, it 'Brothers in Blood'."

Logan would have laughed at the name, if he hadn't thought Victor had some input in it. Instead, he nodded and walked down the street with his brother, a slight smile touching his lips.

**So this is it. It's finished! I just want to say a big thank you to everyone who stuck with me through this and stayed until the end, you guys rule! I hope you enjoyed it.**


End file.
